James Thomson

As thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce,
All winter drives along the darken'd air;
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend,
Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,

The stag, too, singled from the herd, where
He ranged, the branching monarch of the shade,
Before the tempest drives
At first, in

The western sun withdrawn the shorten'd day,
And humid evening, gliding o'er the
In her chill progress, to the ground
The vapours throws

Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds,
All ether softening, sober Evening
Her wonted station in the middle air;
She sends on earth; then that of deeper

Hail, mildly pleasing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good,
But from whose holy piercing
The herd of fools and villains fly

Our bard, to modern epilogue a foe,
Thinks such mean mirth but deadens generous woe;
Dispels in idle air the moral sigh,
And wipes the tender tear from Pity's eye:

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends;
And fortune smiled deceitful on her birth:
For, in her helpless years deprived of all,
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven,