THOMSON. 
203 
“ As yet the trembling year is unconfirmed, 
And winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, 
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 
Deform the day delightless ; so that scarce 
The bittern knows his time, with bill engulpht 
To shake the sounding marsh ; or from the shore. 
The plovers when to scatter o’er the heath. 
And sing their wild notes to the listening waste.” 
That is early spring; presently the spring advances, “ the haw- 
thorn whitens,” and the whole forest at last is full in leaf : — 
“ Where the deer rustle through the twining brake. 
And the birds sing concealed.” 
From the hills we see the landscape, “ one boundless blush, one 
white-empurpled shower” of blossom. After wild storms, the 
wind sinks 
“ Into a perfect calm : that not a breath 
Is heard to quiver through the closing woods. 
Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves 
Of aspen tall.” 
He tells how rain begins : the clouds “ softly shaking on the 
dimpled pool, prelusive drops.” At first 
“ The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard, 
By such as wander through the forest walks 
Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves.” 
He describes the sunset after the storm ; the sun breaking 
brightly out, “ from amid the flush of broken clouds, gay-shift- 
ing to his beam;” the “rapid radiance” upon mountain and 
through forest ; the “ yellow mist far smoking ” over the great 
plain. He advises the angler about times and seasons : — 
“ Now, when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 
.Swelled with the vernal rains, is ebbed away. 
And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream 
Descends the billowy foam ; now is the time. 
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile. 
To tempt the trout.” 
When enough trout have yielded to temptation, and the sun is 
high, the angler should lie upon “the bank where flowering 
elders crowd,” or under “ the spreading ash,” 
“ Hung o’er the steep, whence borne on liquid wing 
The sounding culver shoots, or where the hawk 
High in the beetling crag his aery builds.” 
Then there are the gardens of spring, where among other 
flowers is the famous “ yellow wall-flower, stained with iron- 
brown,” praised by all critics save Mr. Ruskin, with 
“ hyacinths, of purest virgin white. 
Low bent, and blushing inwards.” 
He describes the whole choir of spring, “ from the first note 
the hollow cuckoo sings,” up to “ the full concert,” 
“ While the stock dove breathes 
A melancholy murmur through the whole.” 
