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A PROSPECT OF
The Approach of an Autumnal Storm over the Hills.
And dearer far shall be the kiss, when gain'd,
Than Rome's proud triumphs o'er her kings enchain'd.
But, mark the gathering clouds and night's foul bird,
With harsh discordant scream, from distance heard,
Bespeaks the rising storm; from ether hurl'd,
Th' expansive lightning strikes the trembling world;
Far south on Cambria's hills, the coming storm,
Faintly at first, now strengthening, shews its form,
And nearer now, from Werneth's corn-clad low,
And Hartshead's hoary head, illumes the world below;
Fainting and soft sighs zephyr through the trees,
And magic whispers load the passing breeze.
Fear not, ye hinds! no mischief will be found,
To-morrow's sun will shew your corn embrown'd:
Your ready sickles for the field prepare,
Nor heed the sultry heats, nor rapid lightning's glare.
Jove's red right arm alone directs the storm,
Nor arm'd with bolts, nor angry is his form;
And Jove's great queen, as erst from Ida's height,
On Ilion's plain, she view'd the doubtful fight,
Than Rome's proud triumphs o'er her kings enchain'd.
But, mark the gathering clouds and night's foul bird,
With harsh discordant scream, from distance heard,
Bespeaks the rising storm; from ether hurl'd,
Th' expansive lightning strikes the trembling world;
Far south on Cambria's hills, the coming storm,
Faintly at first, now strengthening, shews its form,
And nearer now, from Werneth's corn-clad low,
And Hartshead's hoary head, illumes the world below;
Fainting and soft sighs zephyr through the trees,
And magic whispers load the passing breeze.
Fear not, ye hinds! no mischief will be found,
To-morrow's sun will shew your corn embrown'd:
Your ready sickles for the field prepare,
Nor heed the sultry heats, nor rapid lightning's glare.
Jove's red right arm alone directs the storm,
Nor arm'd with bolts, nor angry is his form;
And Jove's great queen, as erst from Ida's height,
On Ilion's plain, she view'd the doubtful fight,
