The first, as o'er the billowy deep he pass'd, Blew from his brazen trump a far resounding blast. Upon a beaked promontory high, With streaming beard, and cloudy brow severe, Mark'd ye the Father* of the frowning year? Dark vapours roll'd o'er the tempestuous sky When creeping Winter from his cave came forth; 'Stern Courier of the Storm,' he cried, 'what from the North?' NORTH WIND. 'From the vast and desert deeps, I have heard the wizard's drum, WINTER. " Spirit of unwearied wing, From the Baltic's frozen main, * Then comes the Father of the Tempest forth. VOL. II. LL Thomson. 'Shouts, and the noise of battle!' and again 6 The moody South went by, and silence kept; He had heard the yell and cry But, rousing him from his desponding trance, Cold Eurus blew his sharp and shrilling horn ; In his right hand he bore an icy lance, That far off glitter'd in the frost of morn; The Old Man knew the clarion from afar, What from the East?' he cried. EAST WIND. 'Shouts, and the noise of war! Far o'er the land has been my flight, O'er many a forest dark as night, O'er champaigns where the Tartar speeds, Her trackless woods and wildering wolds, Like a spirit, seeking rest, I have pass'd from east to west, Who comes in soft and spicy vest An azure veil bends waving o'er his head,. The blissful couch of Love's own god to share. Winter avaunt! thy haggard eye The lark, amid the clear blue sky, And all the Winter's winds fly far away! Oh, when will cease the uproar and the din, BOWLES. * See the poem of Cupid and Psyche, in this volume. THE HAG. THE hag is astride This night for to ride, The devil and she together, Through thick and through thin, Though ne'er so foul be the weather. A thorn or a bur She takes for a spur, With a lash of a bramble she rides now; Through brakes and through briars, O'er ditches and mires, She follows the spirit that guides now. No beast for his food Dares now range the wood; But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking; On land and on seas, The storm will arise And trouble the skies This night; and, more for the wonder, The ghost from the tomb Affrighted shall come, Call'd out by the clap of the thunder. HERRICK. THURSDAY; OR, THE SPELL. HOBNELIA, seated in a dreary vale, In pensive mood rehearsed her piteous tale; And turn me thrice around, around, around. "When first the year I heard the cuckoo sing, And call with welcome note the budding spring, I straightway set a running with such haste, Deborah that won the smock scarce run so fast; Till spent for lack of breath, quite weary grown, Upon a rising bank I sat adown, Then doff'd my shoe; and, by my troth, I swear, [ground, With my sharp heel I three times mark the And turn me thrice around, around, around. At eve last Midsummer no sleep I sought, |