I Look abroad, I see the world below
Is drearly clad with universal snow;
The forests groan, in desolation sigh,
As northern blasts, with rage, go howling by:
The woods are stripp'd of their umbrageous green,
Nor bud, nor leaf, nor canopy is seen;
They've changed their chanting and their lovely dress,
And wave their heads, in token of distress;
Their limbs hang down, with winter's fleecy weight,
And wide display a desolated state.
In icy chains, and frosty fetters bound,
They writhe, and nod, and pour a rueful sound.
I see the mounts--hear winds tremendous roar--
The deserts ring much louder than before.
The scowling beasts urg'd from their gloomy den
With pinching hunger scour the distant glens.
I look again, and, in the distant wild,
There's range o'er range in dread disorder pil'd,
While fearful dells present themselves between,
Where vent'rous savage never yet has been.
The lofty summits penetrate the clouds,
Whose icy wardrobe all creation shrouds,
The distant dells reverberate the sound
Of gen'ral grief, that spreads itself around.
As on an elevated peak I stand,
I view the wonders of a mighty hand;
Confusion spreads her mantle o'er the world,
And seas of snow are in disorder hurl'd.
The sounding cascades and the rolling floods
Refresh no more, the trembling woodland herds,
Their tides are bound, their dying murmurs cease,
The boundless waste their silent woes increase;
The shaggy ice hands pendant on the trees,
And jars successive rattle in the breeze.
The dub'ous track that winds amid the wilds
The stranger wand'ring in, the gloom beguiles [359]
And leads him on till the deceptive path
Forsakes him in th' insideous arms of death;
Forlorn and sad the weary trav'ler goes,
Pierc'd with the winds and smother'd in the snows,
Till far from cottage, or from home he lies,
No fun'ral friend to mourn him as he dies.
The roving monsters commence the scowl,
In fiercest hunger raise their angry howl;
From wild, to wild, along the distant wood,
Unwearied scud, impatient for their food;
Their dens forsaking and their homes forgot,
In hungry rage invade the village cot;
Along the wind is snuff'd the pregnant wife,
The trot is rais'd to seek her double life;
The bloody wolf or the voracious bear,
Or screaming panther glut their vengeance there.
No distant bells strike slowly on the ear,
Nor broad Savannahs in delight appear;
No village swains, ascending to the shade,
Nor shepherd musings by the brook is laid;
The darkling bird forsakes her wild abode,
And wings aloft to see a southern road;
The prowling vulture, and the soaring hawk
Now leave the wild, to try a milder walk;
Nor man I see, nor voice around me near,
Alas! the boding owl's sad plaint I hear;
The deep sequester'd groves no more invite
The plumy birds to warble in delight,
No cheerful scene, nor gleeful song is heard.
While dreary woods retain their hoary beard.
The tribes, so merry in the summer noon,
Who taught the shady grove their vocal tune,
Are taught to fly, and seek their trackless way,
And chant their notes beneath the burning day:
They've left the waste, their songs no more resound,
But silence mourns throughout the gloom profound;
Domestic herds no more ascend the steep,
The herbage crops, nor on the mountain sleep;
The fearless bull now paws no more the grove
Where bounding oft he sported in his love.
No playful lambs now dance the sounding plains,
But horrid winter thro' the desert reigns;
The woodman tracks the pathless waste no more,
Where bounding game allur'd his steps before. [360]
The distant sun emits his feeble ray
And faintly cheers the short dejected day;
He peeps askance along the mountain's sides
And moving sad, beyond the mountain hides,
On burthen'd air now cloth'd in cloudy storm
As darkness shrouds his distant sickly form,
He leans his head, and fainting, leaves the world,
While roaring winds along the waste are hurld.
The bor'al storms ascend the distant sky,
And gather vengeance as their tumults fly,
Above, around, they darken as they spread,
And sable horror fills the world with dread--
The frozen bars that bound the zone so long
Are burst asunder, and the FURIES throng,
They mount the clouds, on wings of wrath they go,
And pave the mountains with eternal snow;
From Greenland's coast they rave along the air,
In dreadful phalanx, bid the world prepare,
Through northern climes, in distant Canada,
In fearful freaks their winter frolicks play,
In frowning vengeance, elevate their hands
To roll vast mountains o'er the fated lands,
They fling wide horrors as they rave around
And veil the welkin in a gloom profound;
They rend the clouds with their tremendous breath
And mutter groans portentous--big with death!
Creation reels, and apprehends them near;
The caverns groan, the cypress sighs with fear:
The lonely bird, that in the desert dwelt,
Is warn'd to seek retreat, by instinct felt.
The sky is dark'd, the FURIES rage aloud,
And whirlwinds grin their hail stones in the cloud.
Approaching near, on Alleghany's height,
Lo! snowy mountains tumbling on the sight;
The snows and hail are drove along the steep,
While oblique vollies smite the sounding deep,
The mountains rock, the valleys rise so high,
The boundless waste looks level with the sky.
The lofty pines and sturdy oaks below,
Prostrated lie, or to the tempests bow;
Thick darkness reigns, in which the Daemons dwell,
And louder howl, as stormy bellows swell;
Now mountains roar, and forests bend their head,
While fearful wrath pervades the waste in dread, [361]
The FURIES rage, pour on exhaustless store;
The pond'rous mounts their groaning loads deplore.
The furies scale the last tremend'ous steep
And roaring load, with eye adverse and bleak;
They now behold the landscape op'ning far,
And sweeping vengeance from the pole star;
They drive their winds, they push their snows amain,
And, grimly pleas'd, they see them drift the plain.
The careless swains in snoring slumbers laid,
The storm astounds as now the snows invade;
The trembling sire, now in his lonely shed,
Awakes! perceives the chilling horror spread.
The snows tempestuous now pervade the gloom,
And seek for entrance in the cottage room;
They rouse the fire, in vain they bar the doors,
Thro' careless walls the fleecy deluge pours,
The fire goes out, the cabin sinks in snow,
The frozen tenants cover'd up below.
While poets muse within the lighted hall,
The hear the hail, or whit'ning showers fall,
As some reclined on downy beds of sleep,
They see distress, and bid the muses weep.
The wind is hush'd, the broader flakes descend,
And o'er Virginia's vales their showers bend.
The light breaks forth, the eye salutes the day,
All nature lies in silence and dismay.
Low bow the woods, the dizzy clouds look pale,
While heaps of snow array the distant vale;
The num'rous farms, and all the woodlands lie
Beneath the snows, that brighten in the eye;
The drooping ox stands cover'd o'er with snow,
The cow assumes her hungry plaintive low,
The bleating kind around the sheds repair
And craving food, they seek a shelter there.
The herds unshelter'd shake their snowy woof,
Despairing, looks towards their master's roof,
With meaning dumb they view the sadden'd sky,
They rise to mourn, and then lay down to die:
The hapless flocks that have no shepherd near
Lie starving in the fleecy mounds they bear:
The grunting swine, now begs a meal of corn,
With looks of meaning sullen and forlorn;
The poultry mute now scarcely leave the door,
Nor crow, no cackle as they did before, [362]
They shrug their wings with cautious steps they go,
They tread the yard, and drop their heads with wo:
They look for food, they hop the dwelling's step
And scratch, and gather, where the eve drops wept:
The perching cock, who fearless crow'd so loud
Around his mates, that bow'd his neck so proud,
Is humbled down, to seek his scanty fare,
That the domestics in the trays prepare.
The noisy geese now stretch their wings to fly,
Or snows they paddle, for a shelter try;
The scream they raise, and squalling out distres,
Now huddle up where oft they found redress.
Discordant ducks now quake about the yard,
The frozen pool is left in disregard,
The swine they tease and steal their portion half,
And run and raise a low unmeaning laugh.
The swains arise, unlatch the door and peep--
Alas! the snows they see immensely deep;
Now back they turn, the burning embers blow,
No fuel nigh, but what is hid in snow;
They warm their fingers, and they dress their feet,
They find the wood, and off the snow they beat,
The shriv'ring youth, or aged trembling sire
Pile on, and blow and kindle at the fire;
The wood is wet, the fire is faint and low,
Ah! now they wish they'd kept their wood from snow.
The starving stock requires the rustick's aid,
But first he seeks a shove, board, or spade,
The snow he enters--flings it high in air,
And makes path that he may travel there;
He winds along, the spring he wants to find,
Now to the wife, he wishes to be kind;
And now he turns, he steers toward the stall,
He labors till he makes a road to all.
The nimble swain now skips along the way,
Nor thinks distress is hanging on the day;
He calls his flocks, he shews a lib'ral hand
And gives a share to every trembling band.
Behold the sleep, around the distant oak,
They heard with pleasure when the shepherd spoke,
They start to run, to crowd around his feet
And all their undisguised moans repeat;
Behold they try to wade but sink in snows
And faint amidst a boundless waste of woes; [363]
The careful shepherd makes path along,
And homeward leads the harmless bleating throng.
The gath'ring herds, and flocks, and geese, and swine,
Some thunder loud, some utter noise so fine,
All glad to live and all rejoice to raise
What seems discordant--'tis their mode of praise.
The shepherds to their helpless charge are kind,
Their stalls, their shelters and their food they find;
They stand, and eat, nor fear the pinching storm,
They seem content, while in their shelters warm.
This labor done, the swains with haste retire
And stamp, and warm, and titter round the fire.
The ruddy maid, now takes her pail in hand
And stooping low, commands her cow to stand;
The willing kine gives all her milk away,
To bless the children on the winter's day.
The mother now her morning boon prepares,
And gives her hungry babes their diff'rent shares,
With bread and milk the cabin fire surround
Where humble life, and peace, and health are found.
The snows descend, increasing every hour,
The day is darken'd with the potent show'r,
It warns the sluggard and the sluggard chides,
As piles increase about his couches sides.
The roof neglected and the open room
Receive the snows, the careless waste assume.
All nature silent bends beneath the load,
And makes a desert of the public road;
The weary trav'lers now in truth believe
At hour of two it is the dusk of eve,
They pensive move, or wander off the way,
They seek an Inn, or to the cottage stray,
Wretched and sad the wand'ring strangers come,
All white with snow that now their limbs benumb;
A welcome there, perhaps they find indeed
A kind repast, that just supplies their need;
They enter in, and all at distance seems
Uncertain, wheeling, as their morning dreams;
The cheerful chat begins, the eve is spent,
Kind heav'n they thank and there they seem content;
Tho' sumptuous fare nor viands spread the board,
The grateful guests partake the humble hoard.
The cheerless world displays a scene of dread
And silence seems as if creation's dead. [364]
The desert beasts have found their doleful dens,
The flocks and herds lie silent in their pens,
The drivers now no more the road pursue
Nor travers'd now my many or by few;
The des'late path is heav'd with silent grief,
Or stranger lost is mourning for relief.
Now late at eve, before the day-light flies,
The snow's thin waver, twisting from the skies;
The clouds exhausted 'gin to disappear,
The frigid skies now sparkle cold and clear,
The distant clouds, along far flitting roll,
Convey the FURIES to the distant pole;
They rag'd, they fought, they smote the clouds again,
Could not destroy, but left the world in pain.
Through Carolina's vales, toward the sun,
The snows tempestuous in their ravings run,
And clothe the plains with their majestic gown,
Tho' soon to water they are melted down;
The night looks clear, but all the earth is sad,
The cheerless world, with desolation's clad;
The freezing win goes whistling thro' the field,
While man protected thinks himself conceal'd.
The jocund sires and agile swains around,
Where decent domes, or humble fires are found,
Report the tale, or ancient deed of wrong,
Or lengthen out the goblin story long.
Now solemn feels the superstitious youth,
Receives the fables as the force of truth;
His blood runs cold and all his hairs extend,
As affirmation closes up the end;
Ah! now he fears to venture out at night,
Or if he does, the deamon's in his sight:
With solemn step he finds the backward shed,
With trembling heart he covers up his head;
His wakeful mind disturbs his hours of sleep,
While thousand ghosts around his pillows creep.
Now frequent in the sounding hall they wake
The rural gambol, and their sides they shake;
The rustic mirth goes round, the sprightly joke,
Which first in shepherd's simple heart awoke,
The laugh resounds, the maid is kiss'd sidelong,
The note is rais'd of absent lovers' song,
The dance begins, like giddy lambs at play,
Thus careless fleets the winter's night away. [365]
The village swarms with youthful darling swains,
Who heedless of wo, banish all their pains;
Some strike the flute, and some the violin,
Some drink the juice, and rougher sport begin;
Some pore on books, some take the drunkard's share:
Each one his way to banish all despair.
Those merry lads who seldom ever weight
The worth of life, thus close the winter's day.
The glim'ring light that shines along the walls,
A solemn muse now to my mind recalls;
My ruminating thoughts far backward rove
And tell when this was in the savage grove,
How fathers fought, how brothers lost their lives
To save their sons, their daughters and their wives,
To wrest the wild, the dear propitious land,
From the uncultivated barb'rous hand,
How hard they toil'd, they bled, and groan'd, and died
That we might live and have our wants supplied.
How yells of beasts and whoops of savage flew,
And lonesome forests in wild nature grew,
Now stands the ville its heedless sons within,
Scarce think one moment what the place has been.
The sons of riot, in the city swarm
Around their rooms, their various circles form;
Some warmly talk of politics and pow'rs,
Dispute and wrangle off some useless hours;
Some drink the cup of vain enchanting joy,
As cards, or dice, or different games employ.
The wicked soul drives on the hellish sport
And cheats, despoils and breaks the weaker sort;
Now fortune flies and honor sinks apace,
Disgrace pursues the gambler in his race;
That sign of virtue planted in his heart,
As gold forsakes, now takes its long depart;
That peace of mind, he ofttimes felt before,
Now bids farewell and haunts his heart no more;
In frantic fits he raves around the room
And swears it can't be worse, his games resume;
His prudent friends forsake the wretch forlorn,
And down he sinks in universal scorn.
The wife and children his imprudence feel,
Lament in vain the fortunes of the wheel;
With him they want, with him they suffer shame,
Too late, would execrate a gambler's name; [366]
Thus sporting on, upon destruction's brink,
They make a leap and down to ruin sink!
Along the way, within the spacious hall,
There opes in style the well selected ball;
The dance begins a thousands sprightly ways,
Hard slaves to mirth and dupes to him that plays;
The joke, the kiss and songs of love succeed,
Where pleasure's empty as they sport they lead.
I see the house of tragi-comic sport,
Where gather rich, the proud and baser sort;
The actors' scenes are wonderful and odd,
Of death regardless, fearless of a God;
The crowd astonish'd as the trick is play'd,
Nor think that vice was on the stage display'd;
Corruption swims in their unthinking heads,
And vice is learn'd and dissipation spreads.
The giddy youth, and those of riper years,
Think there is bliss and wipe away their tears;
The lighted taper, and the sparkling eye
Revive their pleasures, and distresses die;
All care is fled the heart of wo is rare,
The world so wretched is not thought of there.
While thousands heedless, headlong, downward go,
Now some, methinks, do meditate on wo,
Retir'd far from the busy scene of life.
As far from pain, as far from human strife;
Far distant, where the lovely mansion stands,
He sits and casts his thoughts o'er foreign lands;
He reads, he learns, how ancient kingdoms rose,
How nations come, and how a nation goes;
He thinks, he see a fellow mortal thron'd,
And his weak potence by ten thousand own'd;
He sees him reign, he sees him give a frown,
And, for a while, he treads his fellows down;
But life, deceitful as a winter's day,
Brings soon his flesh and kingdom to decay. |