The north-east spends his rage; he now shut
Within his iron cave, th' effusive
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of
Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent.
At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,
Scarce staining ether; but, by swift degrees,
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour
Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep,
Sits on th' horizon round a settled gloom:
Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed,
Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope and every joy,
The wish of nature.
Gradual sinks the
Into a perfect calm; that not a
Is heard to quiver through the closing woods,
Or rustling turn the many twinkling
Of aspen tall.
Th' uncurling floods,
In glassy breath, seem through delusive
Forgetful in their course. 'Tis silence all,
And pleasing expectation.
Herds and
Drop the dry sprig, and mute-imploring
The falling verdure.
Hush'd in short suspense,
The plumy people streak their wings with oil,
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;
And wait th' approaching sign to strike, at once,
Into the general choir.
Even mountains, vales,
And forests seem, impatient, to
The promised sweetness.
Man superior
Amid the glad creation, musing praise,
And looking lively gratitude.
At last,
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.
The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard,
By such as wander through the forest walks,
Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves.
But who can hold the shade while heaven
In universal bounty, shedding herbs,
And fruits, and flowers on Nature's ample lap!
Swift fancy fired anticipates their growth;
And, while the milky nutriment distils,
Beholds the kindling country colour round.
