Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

James Thomson (1700–1748)

Extracts from The Seasons: The Coming of the Rain, from ‘Spring’

AT first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,

Scarce staining ether; but by fast degrees,

In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails

Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep,

Sits on the 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 breeze

Into a perfect calm; that not a breath

Is heard to quiver through the closing woods,

Or rustling turn the many twinkling leaves

Of aspen tall. The uncurling floods, diffused

In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse

Forgetful of their course. ’Tis silence all,

And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks

Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eye

The fallen verdure. Hushed in short suspense,

The plumy people streak their wings with oil,

To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;

And wait the approaching sign to strike, at once,

Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales,

And forests seem, impatient, to demand

The promised sweetness. Man superior walks

Amid the glad creation, musing praise,

And looking lively gratitude. At last,

The clouds consign their treasures to the fields;

And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool

Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,

In large effusion, o’er the freshened world.