A STORM IN AUTUMN.
FROM THE LATIN OF VIRGIL.
Why should I mark each storm and starry sign,
When milder suns in autumn swift decline?
Or what new cares await the vernal hour,
When spring descends in many a driving shower,
While bristle into ear the bearded plains,
And the green stalk distends its milky grains?
E’en in mid autumn, while the jocund hind
Bade the gay field the gather’d harvest bind,
Oft have I seen the war of winds contend,
And prone on earth th’ infuriate storm descend—
Waste, far and wide, and by the roots uptorn,
The heavy harvest sweep through ether borne!
While in dark eddies, as the whirlwind past,
The straw and stubble flew before the blast.
Column on column prest in close array,
Dark tempests thicken o’er the watery way.
Heaven poured in torrents, rushes on the plain,
And with wide deluge sweeps the floating grain;
The dikes o’erflow, the flooded channels roar,
Vexed ocean’s foaming billows rock the shore:
The Thunderer, thron’d in clouds, with darkness crown’d,
Bares his red arm, and flashes lightnings round.
The beasts are fled; earth rocks from pole to pole—
Fear walks the world, and bows th’ astonished soul;
Jove rides with fiery bolt Ceraunia’s brow,
Or Athos blazing 'mid eternal snow.
The tempest darkens, blasts redoubled rave,
Smite the hoarse wood, and lash the howling wave.
Translation of W. Sotheby.