The seasons, 1730 / James Thompson
| dc.contributor | Burnard, Lou Oxford University Computing Service University of Oxford Oxford |
| dc.contributor.author | Thompson, James, 1700-1748 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2019-07-04T10:58:16Z |
| dc.date.available | 2019-07-04T10:58:16Z |
| dc.date.created | 1730 |
| dc.date.issued | 1980-01-01 |
| dc.identifier | ota:0021 |
| dc.identifier.citation | http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/0021 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.12024/0021 |
| dc.description.abstract | Title from title page of source text |
| dc.format.extent | Text data (1 file : ca. 190 KB) |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Legacy Collection Digital Museum |
| dc.rights | Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. |
| dc.rights.uri | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ |
| dc.rights.label | PUB |
| dc.subject.lcsh | Poems -- Great Britain -- 18th century |
| dc.title | The seasons, 1730 / James Thompson |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 197778 |
| files.count | 2 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1700-1799 |
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<P [1] >
<P 1>
<T SPRING.>
$COME, gentle $SPRING, ETHEREAL MILDNESS, come,
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains desend.
O $HERTFORD, fitted or to shine in courts,
With unaffected grace; or walk the plain,
With $INNOCENCE and MEDITATION join'd
In soft assemblage, liften to my song,
That thy own season paints; when $NATURE all
Is blooming, and benevolent like thee.
<P 2>
And see where surly $WINTER passes off,
Far to the north, and call his ruffian blasts;
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill,
The shatter'd forest and the ravag'd vale:
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.
As yet the trembling year is uncomfirm'd,
And $WINTER oft at eve resumes the breeze,
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
Deform the day delightless; so that scarce
The Bitten knows his time, with bill ingulpht . . .
