|
|
September 28, 1775.
No. 559. |
|
The
Seasons
An Ode |
|
When heaps congeal’d of dazzling snow
Oppress the mountain’s ermin’d brow;
When loudly-blust’ring winds arise,
And hoarsely-hurling sweep the skies;
When frozen billows cease to
roar, 5
Fast cleaving to the blasted shore;
Then from abroad, my friend, retire,
And jovial croud the high-pil’d fire:
Your chilling soul with goblets cheer
Of rosy wine, or frothy
beer. 10
Or drive the tedious time away,
With blissful sport and harmless play.
Let no vain cares torment your breast,
But drink, and leave to heaven the rest;
For soon th’ auspicious Power
above 15
The gloomy prospect will remove:
’Tis he, whose nod imperious binds
The fury of the raging winds.
At his command the storms arise,
He speaks—again the tempest
dies: 20
Unruffled flows the limpid flood,
Unshaken stands the leafy wood.
When Spring descends in teemful
show’rs,
To paint the fields with blooming flow’rs;
When birds renew their chirping
lays, 25
Perch’d on the green prolific sprays,
Then joys more pleasing you will prove,
The joys of bliss imparting love:
Then o’er the turf-invested plains,
With sportful nymphs and tripping
swains, 30
Invited by the sounding lyre,
You’ll lead the joy-enraptur’d choir.
When Summer, veil’d in tepid
gales,
Advancing o’er the Spring prevails;
When shepherds drive their fainting
flocks 35
Beneath the rugged rough-bent rocks;
When Phœbus darts his sultry beams,
Then plunge amidst the cooling streams;
Till rising brisk, alert and gay,
You bound to tufted groves away, 40
Where on soft beds of roses laid,
Beneath an oak’s extended shade,
Shelter’d from Phœbus’ burning rays,
You meditate your sylvan lays;
And while the gently-cooling breeze 45
Soft whispers thro’ the gloomy trees,
You mark the daizy-border’d rills,
The mazy vales, the wood-crown’d hills,
And all the beauties of the grove,
Unbounded scene of joy and
love! 50
Happy, if with some lovely fair
You can these rural beauties share:
Content shall crown the circling hours,
And ev’ry love-sprung bliss be yours.
When Ceres scattering gifts
around, 55
And Bacchus with perfection crown’d,
Auspicious pair! conjoin’d appear,
Eager to bliss th’ autumnal year,
Inviting the laborious swains
To reap rich blessings from the
plains, 60
As soon as the shrill sounding horn
Proclaims the rosy-finger’d morn,
Rouse all the eager hunting crew,
Thro’ hills and dales the chace pursue,
Seeking the branching stag to
rear 65
With rapid steeds and pointed spear:
While the swift hounds their courses take,
And bleeding tear the spiny brake;
Till the proud beast tir’d heaves for breath,
And pants and dreads devouring
death. 70
Then, when the Sun declining bends,
And Night her shady veil extends,
When huntsmen, spent with toil and heat,
From the long-beaten plain retreat:
Let copious bowls of luscious
wine, 75
New-press’d, each grosser sense refine;
Or, where the vines their tendrils shoot,
Crop the profuse inviting fruit:
And, while you drain fair Autumn’s store,
Grateful resound Pomona’s pow’r; 80
Till Winter’s hoary blast again
Invert the year, and ’whelm the plain.
As round the sun the planets
roll,
And shine alternate on the pole,
Thus each revolving season’s
found 85
With various beauties mutual crown’d:
The Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring,
Unnumber’d joys alternate bring;
On pleasures still new pleasures roll,
And charm each guilt-untainted
soul. 90
While free, my friend, from
baneful strife,
You lead a peaceful rural life,
Avoid the cares which honours bring,
And scorn Ambition’s soaring wing:
In calm content, serenely
great, 95
Laugh at the gaudy pomp of state;
Resign’d to heav’n’s auspicious pow’r,
Enjoy the present golden hour:
Think often grateful on the past,
And neither wish nor dread the
last. 100 |
|
|
