 | The British Months |  |
Changeableness of the weather. A variable day. A bright morning, followed by a stormy afternoon. A dark morning, followed by a clear afternoon. Fair but deceptive
How fitful is the season's power,
So prone to change, that scarce a day
Glides with consistent course away!
Now come by turns, from morn to night,
Masses of gloom, and glares of light;
Thin streaked clouds, and skies between
Of watry pale, or azure sheen;
The tranquil air, the awaken'd gale,
Borne on its wings the rushing hail;
The sleety show'r, that, as it falls,
Stripes the bright space beyond; the squalls,
That come and go with hasty fit;
Dark piles, with partial sunshine lit;
Resplendent radiance, murky gleams,
Thick rolling fogs, and misty steams.
459
Night's curtains; like transparent gauze,
Thin floating films suspended fly;
Red flushes tinge the morning sky,
And show, their partial openings through,
Imperfect gleams of pallid blue.
The vapours melt and disappear:
And o'er the vaulted hemisphere,
Behold, no spot or speck is seen,
To violate the pure serene,
Where his slope course begins to hold
On heaven's low arch the orb of gold.
Anon, thick gloom usurps the sway
Triumphant o'er the vanquish'd day:
Clouds, piled on gathering clouds, infold,
Impervious depth, that orb of gold;
And waft him to his early bower,
'Mid piping blasts, and sleety shower.
And now, o'ercast the morning lowers,
With clouds, and blasts, and sleety showers;
Dark is the heav'n's cerulean arch,
Where the great sun begins his march
In twilight dun: his rising globe
All muffled in a funeral robe;
Or, from behind a misty veil
Of drizzling moisture, glimmering pale;
Or overlaid, as with a crust,
Deep, dark, and red, of bloody rust.
Ev'n like the moon, eclips'd and dim,
When o'er her face from rim to rim
The earth's obstructing form has laid
A smokelike, dense, and dingy shade,
While not a cloud nor vapour mars
The brightness of the silver stars.
Anon, attain'd the midmost zone,
Rain, mist, and fog aside are thrown;
And, westering as his orb declines,
Forth with unsullied light he shines.
Thus the good man, whose path around
A morn of gloom and tempest frown'd,
Shines forth at last, erewhile distrest,
And sinks in peace and joy to rest.
With clouds, and blasts, and sleety showers;
Dark is the heav'n's cerulean arch,
Where the great sun begins his march
In twilight dun: his rising globe
All muffled in a funeral robe;
Or, from behind a misty veil
Of drizzling moisture, glimmering pale;
Or overlaid, as with a crust,
Deep, dark, and red, of bloody rust.
Ev'n like the moon, eclips'd and dim,
When o'er her face from rim to rim
460
A smokelike, dense, and dingy shade,
While not a cloud nor vapour mars
The brightness of the silver stars.
Anon, attain'd the midmost zone,
Rain, mist, and fog aside are thrown;
And, westering as his orb declines,
Forth with unsullied light he shines.
Thus the good man, whose path around
A morn of gloom and tempest frown'd,
Shines forth at last, erewhile distrest,
And sinks in peace and joy to rest.
'Tis pleasant then, perhaps the more
'Mid general waste, to see him pour
On all around his glory's streams;
In a full flood of golden gleams
As richly, as profusely dight,
And o'er a vault as pure and bright,
As when his furthest goal is won:
Mid winter's skies a summer sun.
Summer in aspect and in form,
But void of genial radiance warm,
Trust not too far the flattering ray!
He smiles, but trusted will betray,
Who fondly on his smile relies,
To chilling blasts and drenching skies!
'Mid general waste, to see him pour
On all around his glory's streams;
In a full flood of golden gleams
As richly, as profusely dight,
And o'er a vault as pure and bright,
As when his furthest goal is won:
Mid winter's skies a summer sun.
Summer in aspect and in form,
But void of genial radiance warm,
Trust not too far the flattering ray!
He smiles, but trusted will betray,
Who fondly on his smile relies,
To chilling blasts and drenching skies!
| The British Months | |