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THE TASK.

BOOK V.

THE WINTER MORNING WALK.

His flanting ray

"Tis morning; and the fun, with ruddy orb
Afcending, fires th' horizon; while the clouds,
That crowd away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the difk emerges more,
Refemble moft fome city in a blaze,
Seen through the leafless wood.
Slides ineffectual down the fnowy vale,
And, tinging all with his own rofy hue,
From ev'ry herb and ev'ry spiry blade
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field.
Mine, fpindling into longitude immense,
In fpite of gravity, and fage remark
That I myself am but a fleeting shade,

Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance
I view the muscular proportion'd limb

Transform'd to a lean shank.

As they defign'd to mock me,

The shapeless pair,

at my fide

Take step for step; and, as I near approach The cottage, walk along the plafter'd wall, Prepoft'rous fight! the legs without the man. The verdure of the plain lies buried deep Beneath the dazzling deluge; and the bents, And coarfer grass, upfpearing o'er the rest, Of late unfightly and unfeen, now shine Confpicuous, and, in bright apparel clad And fledg'd with icy feathers, nod fuperb. The cattle mourn in corners where the fence Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep In unrecumbent fadness. There they wait Their wonted fodder; not like hung'ring man, Fretful if unfupplied; but filent, meek, And patient of the flow-pac'd fwain's delay. He from the ftack carves out th' accuftom'd load, Deep-plunging, and again deep-plunging oft, His broad keen knife into the folid mafs: Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, With fuch undeviating and even force He fevers it away: no needlefs care, Left ftorms should overfet the leaning pile.

Deciduous, or its own unbalanc'd weight.
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd
The cheerful haunts of man; to wield the axe
And drive the wedge, in yonder foreft drear,
From morn to eve his folitary task.

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Shaggy, and lean, and fhrewd, with pointed ears

And tail cropp'd short,

half lurcher and half cur

His dog attends him.

Close behind his heel

Now creeps he flow; and now, with many a frisk
Wide-scamp'ring, fnatches up the drifted snow
With iv'ry teeth, or ploughs it with his fnout;
Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy.
Heedlefs of all his pranks, the furdy churl
Moves right toward the mark; nor itoops for aught,
But now and then with preffure of his thumb
T' adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube
That fumes beneath his nose: the trailing cloud
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air.
Now from the rooft, or from the neighb'ring pale,
Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam
Of smiling day, they goffipp'd fide by fide,
Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call
The feather'd tribes domeftic. Half on wing,
And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood,
Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge.
The sparrows peep, and quit the fhelt'ring caves

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To feize the fair occafion. Well they eye
The fcatter'd grain; and, thievishly resolv❜d
T'efcape th' impending famine, often scar'd,
As oft return-a pert voracious kind.

Clean riddance quickly made, one only care
Remains to each--the fearch of funny nook,
Or fhed impervious to the blast. Refign'd
To fad neceffity, the cock foregoes

His wonted ftrut; and, wading at their head
With well-confider'd steps, feems to refent
His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd.
How find the myriads, that in fummer cheer
The hills and vallies with their ceaseless fongs,
Due fuftenance, or where fubfift they now?
Earth yields them nought: th' imprison'd worm is fafe
Beneath the frozen clod; all feeds of herbs
Lie cover'd clofe; and berry-bearing thorns,
That feed the thrush, (whatever fome fuppofe)
Afford the fmaller minstrels no fupply.
The long protracted rigour of the year
Thins all their num'rous flocks.

In chinks and holes

Ten thoufand feek an unmolested end,

As inftinct prompts; felf-buried ere they die.
The very rooks and daws forfake the fields,

Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut, now

Repays their labour more; and, perchid aloft

By the way-fide, or stalking in the path,
Lean penfioners upon the trav'ler's track,
Pick up their naufeous dole, though fweet to them,
Of voided pulfe or half digefted grain.

The ftreams are loft amid the fplendid blank,
O'erwhelming all diftinction. On the flood,
Indurated and fixt, the fnowy weight
Lies undiffolv'd; while filently beneath,
And unperceiv'd, the current fteals away.
Not fo where, fcornful of a check, it leaps'
The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel,
And wantons in the pebbly gulph below:
No froft can bind it there; its utmost furce
Can but arreft the light and smoky mist
That in its fall the liquid fheet throws wide.
And fee where it has hung th' embroider'd banks
With forms fo various, that no pow'rs of art,
The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene!
Her glitt'ring turrets rife, upbearing high
(Fantastic mifarrangement!) on the roof
Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees
And fhrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops

That trickle down the branches, faft congeal'd,

Shoot into pillars of pellucid length,

And prop the pile they but adorn'd before.

Here grotto within rotto fafe defies

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