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(From Winter)
THEY ask no more than simple Nature gives; | |
| They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms. | |
| No false desires, no pride-created wants, | |
| Disturb the peaceful current of their time; | |
| And through the restless, ever-tortured maze | 5 |
| Of pleasure or ambition bid it rage. | |
| Their reindeer form their riches. These their tents, | |
| Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth | |
| Supply; their wholesome fare and cheerful cups. | |
| Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe | 10 |
| Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift | |
| O’er hill and dale, heaped into one expanse | |
| Of marbled snow, or, far as eye can sweep | |
| With a blue crust of ice unbounded glazed. | |
| By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake | 15 |
| A waving blaze refracted o’er the heavens, | |
| And vivid moons, and stars that keener play | |
| With double lustre from the radiant waste, | |
| E’en in the depth of polar night, they find | |
| A wondrous day; enough to light the chase, | 20 |
| Or guide their daring steps to Vinland fairs. | |
| Wished spring returns; and from the hazy south, | |
| While dim Aurora slowly moves before, | |
| The welcome sun, just verging up at first, | |
| By small degrees extends the swelling curve! | 25 |
| Till seen, at last, for gay, rejoicing months, | |
| Still round and round his spiral course he winds, | |
| And as he nearly dips his flaming orb, | |
| Wheels up again, and reascends the sky. | |
| In that glad season from the lakes and floods, | 30 |
| Where pure Niemi’s fairy mountains rise, | |
| And fringed with roses, Tenglio rolls his stream, | |
| They draw the copious fry. With these, at eve, | |
| They cheerful loaded to their tents repair; | |
| Where all day long in useful cares employed, | 35 |
| Their kind, unblemished wives the fire prepare. | |
| Thrice happy race! by poverty secured | |
| From legal plunder and rapacious power: | |
| In whom fell interest never yet has sown | |
| The seeds of vice; whose spotless swains ne’er know | 40 |
| Injurious deed, nor, blasted by the breath | |
| Of faithless love, their blooming daughters woe. | |
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