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The British Months

A Poem, in Twelve Parts. By Richard Mant: In Two Volumes
 
 

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450

Dark morning. Unbroken blackness. General inactivity of nature. The Cattle, &c. The Birds. Pigeons. Domestick Poultry. The Turkey. The Guinea fowl. The Peacock, his beauty and habits. Common Ducks. Parts adapted to stations

'Tis morning's hour! But with the dawn
Scarce from the face of things withdrawn
Is night's black curtain. Darkness lowers
O'er the dim earth in ceaseless showers;
And hangs o'er heav'n a deathlike shroud,
One dense, unchang'd, unopening cloud.
Not, as in April's changeful day,
At intervals a sunny ray
Breaks cheerful thro' the floating rack:
But morn to noon an inky black
Frowns mournful on the wearied sight,
From noon to eve, from eve to night.
Nor field nor garden now invites
The rambling step to new delights.
Nature to man, and bird, and beast,
Proclaims a dull unwonted rest.
Aside the inactive plough is laid:
The adhesive mould the clotted spade
Defies. Beneath the sheltering hedge,
Beneath the stack's o'erhanging ledge,

451

The herds and flocks, each cautious form
Turn'd backward to the driving storm,
Crowd fearfully. Their guardians nigh
In folding cloak close mantled lie:
And nigh the dogs, still wont to share
The master's comforts as his care,
Beneath the well-known refuge creep,
Lull'd by the storm to transient sleep.
The birds, free nature's tenants, house,
As best they may, within the boughs:
While those, for man's convenience bred,
Couch cowering in their houshold shed.
Not now afar the flocking dove
Wheels his swift flight, tho' apt to rove,
And seek whate'er the cultur'd field
Or distant thrashing floor may yield.
Him the harsh time forbids to ply
The rapid wing, and thro' the sky
With smooth unerring motion float,
Close tenant of the crowded cote.
Tho' with his shrill and cheerful horn
He early wak'd the slumbering morn,
Not now the scarlet-crested cock
Leads proudly forth the obedient flock;
Their nightly roost not yet forsook,
Or thronging in some covert nook.
Not now the Turkey gives to view
His head and neck of red and blue;
And, as he stalks his dames around,
Sweeps with strong wing the grating ground.

452

Not now to pick the scatter'd seeds
His young the dark Pintado leads;
Whose spangles white unnumber'd lie,
Like stars throughout the dark blue sky.
Not now the Peacock proud displays
Abroad his many-mingled rays;
Of verdant gold his tufted crest,
His purple neck, and purple breast,
Which, slowly wav'd, their plumes indue
At every change with colours new.
Clos'd is his bright green length of train,
Which Flora's richest tints in vain
May strive to match: instinct with eyes,
Of gemlike lights, and rainbow dies.
See on the limb of elm-tree tall,
The barn's steep thatch, or paddock wall,
He now maintains his airy hold,
Nor deigns his dripping tail unfold.
But when the sun's reviving beams
Shall tempt him forth, with rival gleams
Again his gorgeous disk he'll spread;
And o'er his coronetted head
Incline the bending plumes, and move
Majestick 'mid the bright alcove.
Yet are there some, who pleas'd employ
The time with a more sprightly joy,
Birds of the webb'd and palmate feet!
They with hoarse cries of welcome greet,
Rejoicing in their wet domain,
The floods of still descending rain:
High o'er their backs with fluttering wing,
And splashing bill, the moisture fling;

453

Or round and round disporting sail;
Or downward, with inverted tail,
Plunge deep, the head and neck to lave,
And revel in the dimpled wave.
To each his pleasures, as assign'd
By Him, who each created kind
Gave parts adapted to his race,
And each his own appropriate place:—
The pinion strong and light and fleet,
Or sinewy legs, or oarlike feet,
The heaven's expanded face to skim,
To walk the earth, the flood to swim.—
To all extends his bounty's plan,
To bird and beast, but most to man!