Festival of song: a series of evenings with the poets . s, Mr. Thomson, is the objectof my visit. The poet of the Seasons did much to improve the poetic tasteof his day. Campbell justly remarks : Habits of early admirationteach us all to look back upon this poet as the favourite companionof our solitary walks, and as the author who has first, or chiefly,reflected back to our minds a heightened and refined sensation ofthe delight which rural scenery affords us. Thomsons sketchesare Claude-Yike^—full of pastoral beauty and sunshine. Here is abeautiful burst of song, descriptive of summer dawn :—
Festival of song: a series of evenings with the poets . s, Mr. Thomson, is the objectof my visit. The poet of the Seasons did much to improve the poetic tasteof his day. Campbell justly remarks : Habits of early admirationteach us all to look back upon this poet as the favourite companionof our solitary walks, and as the author who has first, or chiefly,reflected back to our minds a heightened and refined sensation ofthe delight which rural scenery affords us. Thomsons sketchesare Claude-Yike^—full of pastoral beauty and sunshine. Here is abeautiful burst of song, descriptive of summer dawn :— The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east :Till far oer ether spreads the widening glow ;And, from before the lustre of her face,93 White break the clouds away. With quickend stepBrown night retires. Young day pours in apace,And opens all the lawny prospect dripping rock, the mountains misty on the sight, and brighten with the , through the dusk, the smoking currents shine ;. T^\^3 And from the bladed field the fearful hareLimps, awkward ; while along the forest gladeThe wild deer trip, and often turning, gazeAt early passenger. Music awakesThe native voice of undissembled joy ;And thick around the woodland hymns by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leavesHis mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ;And from the crowded fold, in order, drivesHis flock, to taste the verdure of the After describing the traveller lost in the snow, the poet thus con-tinues :— In vain for him the officious wife preparesThe fire fair blazing, and the vestment warm ;In vain his little children, peeping outInto the mingling storm, demand their sireWith tears of artless innocence. Alas !Nor wife nor children more shall he friends, nor sacred home. On every nerveThe deadly winter seizes, shuts up oer his inmost vitals creeping him along the snows a stiffened
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, booksu, booksubjectenglishpoetry
