WINTER
PROSPECTS
IN
THE
COUNTRY
.
AN
EPISTLE
TO
A
FRIEND
IN
LONDON
,
1756.
BY
J.
S.
WHile
Learning's
pleasing
cares
my
friend
detain
,
By
Thames's
banks
on
London's
smoaky
plain
;
Where
spacious
streets
their
peopled
length
extend
,
And
pompous
domes
and
lofty
spires
ascend
:
Far
different
views
the
lonely
country
yields
,
Deserted
roads
,
and
unfrequented
fields
;
Bleak
scenes
,
where
hoary
Winter
holds
command
,
And
from
his
throne
of
clouds
o'erlooks
the
land
;
He
frowns
—
the
power
of
Vegetation
dies
,
Frosts
bind
the
earth
,
and
Tempests
rend
the
skies
;
Or
driving
Snows
descend
,
or
pouring
Rains
,
Or
chilling
Vapours
hover
o'er
the
plains
.
Sometimes
awhile
the
hoary
Tyrant
sleeps
,
Hid
in
his
cave
beneath
the
watery
deeps
;
The
distant
sun
extends
a
chearing
ray
,
Bright
smile
the
skies
and
soft
the
breezes
play
:
Then
airy
lawns
the
morning
walk
invite
,
And
rural
landscapes
charm
the
roving
sight
,
Mix'd
with
brown
stubble
,
leafless
woods
are
seen
,
And
neat-plough'd
furrows
clad
in
scanty
green
;
While
turbid
waters
edg'd
with
yellow
reeds
Wind
thro'
the
russet
herd-forsaken
meads
;
And
groves
that
Winter's
fiercest
rage
disdain
In
fair
plantations
deck
the
shelter'd
plain
:
There
painted
hollies
with
red
berries
glow
,
And
their
broad
leaves
the
shining
laurels
show
,
And
pines
and
firs
their
varied
verdure
blend
,
And
cedars
spread
,
and
cypresses
ascend
.
Pleas'd
with
the
scene
,
I
range
from
field
to
field
,
Till
loftier
lands
remoter
prospects
yield
;
And
there
the
curious
optic
tube
apply
Till
a
new
world
approaches
on
the
eye
;
Till
where
dark
wood
the
hills
slope
surface
shrouds
;
Or
the
blue
summit
mingles
with
the
clouds
;
There
fair
inclosures
lie
of
varied
hue
,
And
trees
and
houses
rise
distinct
to
view
.
But
this
too
oft
th'
inclement
clime
denies
,
Involv'd
in
misty
or
in
watery
skies
;
And
yet
ev'n
then
with
books
engag'd
,
I
find
A
sweet
employment
for
th'
exploring
mind
;
There
fair
Description
shews
each
absent
scene
,
The
corn-clad
mountain
and
the
daisied
green
;
There
over
distant
lands
my
fancy
roves
,
Thro'
India's
cany
isles
and
palmy
groves
;
Where
clear
streams
wander
thro'
luxuriant
vales
,
Midst
cloudless
skies
and
ever-tepid
gales
,
While
Spring
sits
smiling
in
her
brightest
bloom
,
And
calls
around
her
every
rich
perfume
.