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THE BEST AUTHORS.
263.-LET WINTER COME.
WINTER, like every other season, has its appropriate sentiments, but suited to the mood of the poet's mind. It suggests pictures of home comfort:
Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep
The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep!
With mental light, the melancholy day!
Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictur'd wall!
Even its gloom has its inspiration of solemn musings, such as Burns has beautifully described :-"As I am what the men of the world, if they knew such a man, would call a whimsical mortal, I have various sources of pleasure and enjoyment, which are, in a manner, peculiar to myself, or some here and there such other out-of-the-way person. Such is the peculiar pleasure I take in the season of winter, more than the rest of the year. This, I believe, may be partly owing to my misfortunes giving my mind a melancholy cast: but there is something even in the
Mighty tempest, and the hoary waste,
Abrupt, and deep stretch'd o'er the buried earth,
which raises the mind to a serious solemnity, favourable to every thing great and noble. There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more -I do not know if I should call it pleasure-but something which exalts me, something which enraptures me-than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion: my mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew bard, walks on the wings of the wind.' In one of these seasons, just after a train of misfortunes, I composed the following:The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw:
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!
Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil;
Here firm I rest, they must be best,
Because they are Thy will!
This one request of mine!)
Assist me to resign."
Winter calls up the personifications of the painter-poets:
Lastly, came Winter clothed all in frieze,
Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill;