Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/68

Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope and every joy,
The wish of nature. Gradual, sinks the breeze,
Into a perfect calm; that not a breath155
Is heard to quiver thro' the closing woods,
Or rustling turn the many-twinkling-leaves
Of aspin tall. Th' uncurling floods, diffus'd
In glassy breadth, seem thro' delusive lapse
Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all,160
And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks
Drop the dry sprig, and mute-imploring eye
The falling verdure. Hush'd in short suspense,
The plumy people streak their wings with oil,
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;165
And wait th' approaching sign to strike at once,
Into the general choir. Ev'n mountains, vales,
And forests seem, impatient, to demand
The promis'd sweetness. Man superior walks
Amid the glad creation, musing praise,170
And looking lively gratitude. At last,
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.175
The stealing show'r is scarce to patter heard,
By such as wander thro' the forest-walks,
Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves.
But who can hold the shade, while heaven descends
In universal bounty, shedding herbs,180
And fruits and flow'rs, on Nature's ample lap?
Swift fancy fir'd anticipates their growth;
And, while the verdant nutriment distills,
Beholds the kindling country colour round.

Thus