WINTER.

SEE, WINTER Comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;

Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme;
These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought,

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And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms!
Cogenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleas'd have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nurs'd by careless solitude I liv'd,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,
Pleas'd have I wander'd through your rough domain;
Trod the pure-virgin snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep fermenting tempest brew'd
In the grim evening-sky. Thus pass'd the time;
Till through the lucid chambers of the south
Look'd out the joyous Spring-look'd out and smil'd.
To thee, the patron of this first essay,

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The muse, O Wilmington! renews her song.
Since has she rounded the revolving year:
Skimm'd the gay Spring; on eagle-pinions borne, 20
Attempted through the Summer blaze to rise;
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale;
And now among the wintry clouds again,
Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar;
To swell her note with all the rushing winds;
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods;

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As is her theme, her numbers wildly great:
Thrice happy! could she fill thy judging ear,
With bold description, and with manly thought.
Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone,
And how to make a mighty people thrive:
But equal goodness, sound integrity,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul
Amid a sliding age, and burning strong,
Not vainly blazing, for thy country's weal—
A steady spirit, regularly free;

These, each exalting each, the statesman light
Into the patriot; these, the public hope
And eye to thee converting, bid the muse
Record what envy dares not flattery call.*

Sir Spencer Compton, Earl of Wilmington, was the earliest patron of our poet, who inscribed to him the first edition of the Winter, in an epistolary dedication, written by Mallet. The poem,

in its present form, contains many lines, that then formed a part of the Autumn. The above eulogy supplies the place of Mallet's dedication.

The Earl of Wilmington was the third son of the Earl of Northampton; he was created Baron Wilmington, in 1727: and Viscount Pevensey, and Earl of Wilmington, in 1730. He died a bachelor in 1743.

Notwithstanding the high eulogium of the poet, and the description of virtues that

"each exalting each, the statesman light Into the patriot;

and the recording of which, we are told, " envy dares not flattery call," Lord Wilmington was a person of weak intellect, and very moderate acquirements.

He was, however, Speaker of the House of Commons at the same time that Sir Robert Walpole was Prime Minister; and having secured the good will of Mrs. Howard, he became a personal favourite with the King, who, on his accession, named him, in 1742, Lord First Commissioner of the Treasury; but he was, in truth, only nominal premier, the Earl of Carteret, Secretary of Foreign Affairs, being the actual leader in the administration of which he formed a part. The talents of Lord Wilmington were of so low a

Now when the cheerless empire of the sky
To Capricorn* the Centaur-Archer yields,
And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year-
Hung o'er the farthest verge of heaven, the sun
Scarce spreads o'er ether the dejected day.
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines,

Through the thick air; as cloth'd in cloudy storm,
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky;
And, soon descending, to the long dark night,
Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns.
Nor is the night unwish'd; while vital heat,
Light, life, and joy, the dubious day forsake.
Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast,
Deep-ting'd and damp, and congregated clouds,
And all the vapoury turbulence of heaven,
Involve the face of things. Thus Winter falls,
A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world,
Through nature shedding influence malign,
And rouses up the seeds of dark disease.
The soul of man dies in him, loathing life,
And black with more than melancholy views.
The cattle droop; and o'er the furrow'd land,
Fresh from the plough, the dun discolour'd flocks,

character that he was obliged to apply to Walpole to draw up the King's speech; and, on the passing of a bill for providing annuities for the King's children, in May 1739, Lord Chesterfield remarked that some of the family were not prayed for, owing to a blunder in the form of prayer issued from the Privy Council; and of this blunder Earl Wilmington avowed himself the author. At the funeral of Congreve, he was one of the pall-bearers who were selected by the Duchess of Marlborough. Sir Robert Walpole, speaking of Earl Wilmington, said, "After all, he was a poor creature."

* The ancients made much use of the different periods when the sun entered the signs of the Zodiac. Thus, Virgil recommends vines to be planted when "Capricorn admits the winter sun."

Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root.
Along the woods, along the moorish fens,
Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm;
And up among the loose disjointed cliffs,

And fractur'd mountains wild, the brawling brook
And cave, presageful, send a hollow moan,
Resounding long in listening fancy's ear.

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Then comes the father of the tempest forth, Wrapt in black glooms. First, joyless rains obscure Drive through the mingling skies with vapour foul, Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods 75 That grumbling wave below. The unsightly plain Lies a brown deluge; as the low-bent clouds Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still Combine, and deepening into night shut up The day's fair face. The wanderers of heaven, Each to his home, retire; save those that love To take their pastime in the troubled air, Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. The cattle from the untasted fields return, And ask, with meaning low, their wonted stalls, Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. Thither the household feathery people crowd. The crested cock, with all his female train, Pensive and dripping; while the cottage-hind Hangs o'er the enlivening blaze, and taleful there Recounts his simple frolic: much he talks,

And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows
Without, and rattles on his humble roof.

Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swell'd,
And the mix'd ruin of its banks o'erspread,
At last the rous'd-up river pours along :
Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes,
From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild,

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