 | The Poetical Works of John Scott |  |
185
ODE VII. WRITTEN IN WINTER.
While in the sky black clouds impend,
And fogs arise, and rains descend,
And one brown prospect opens round
Of leafless trees and furrow'd ground;
Save where unmelted spots of snow
Upon the shaded hill-side show;
While chill winds blow, and torrents roll,
The scene disgusts the sight, depresses all the soul.
And fogs arise, and rains descend,
And one brown prospect opens round
Of leafless trees and furrow'd ground;
Save where unmelted spots of snow
Upon the shaded hill-side show;
While chill winds blow, and torrents roll,
The scene disgusts the sight, depresses all the soul.
Yet worse what polar climates share—
Vast regions, dreary, bleak, and bare!—
There, on an icy mountain's height,
Seen only by the moon's pale light,
Stern Winter rears his giant form,
His robe a mist, his voice a storm:
His frown the shivering nations fly,
And hid for half the year in smoky caverns lie.
Vast regions, dreary, bleak, and bare!—
There, on an icy mountain's height,
Seen only by the moon's pale light,
186
His robe a mist, his voice a storm:
His frown the shivering nations fly,
And hid for half the year in smoky caverns lie.
Yet there the lamp's perpetual blaze
Can pierce the gloom with chearing rays;
Yet there the heroic tale or song
Can urge the lingering hours along;
Yet there their hands with timely care
The kajak and the dart prepare,
On summer seas to work their way,
And wage the watry war, and make the seals their prey.
Can pierce the gloom with chearing rays;
Yet there the heroic tale or song
Can urge the lingering hours along;
Yet there their hands with timely care
The kajak and the dart prepare,
On summer seas to work their way,
And wage the watry war, and make the seals their prey.
Too Delicate! reproach no more
The seasons of thy native shore—
There soon shall Spring descend the sky,
With smiling brow and placid eye;
A primrose wreath surrounds her hair,
Her green robe floats upon the air;
And, scatter'd from her liberal hand,
Fair blossoms deck the trees, fair flow'rs adorn the land.
The seasons of thy native shore—
There soon shall Spring descend the sky,
With smiling brow and placid eye;
187
Her green robe floats upon the air;
And, scatter'd from her liberal hand,
Fair blossoms deck the trees, fair flow'rs adorn the land.
| The Poetical Works of John Scott | |