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(From The Seasons: Winter)
NOT such the sons of Lapland: wisely they | |
| Despise the insensate, barbarous trade of war; | |
| They ask no more than simple Nature gives; | |
| They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms; | |
| No false desires, no pride-created wants, | 5 |
| Disturb the peaceful current of their time; | |
| And through the restless, ever-tortured maze | |
| Of pleasure or ambition, bid it rage. | |
| Their reindeer form their riches. These their tents, | |
| Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth | 10 |
| Supply, their wholesome fare and cheerful cups. | |
| Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe | |
| Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift | |
| O’er hill and dale, heaped into one expanse | |
| Of marbled snow, as far as eye can sweep | 15 |
| With a blue crust of ice unbounded glazed. | |
| By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake | |
| A waving blaze refracted o’er the heavens, | |
| And vivid moons, and stars that keener play | |
| With doubled lustre from the glossy waste, | 20 |
| E’en in the depth of polar night, they find | |
| A wondrous day: enough to light the chase, | |
| Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs. | |
| Wished spring returns; and from the hazy south, | |
| While dim Aurora slowly moves before, | 25 |
| The welcome sun, just verging up at first | |
| By small degrees extends the swelling curve! | |
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