Th’ impatient merchant, wond’ring, waits in vain;
And Mecca saddens at the long delay.’
There are other passages of equal beauty with these; such as that of the hunted stag, followed by ‘the inhuman rout,’
‘——That from the shady depth
Expel him, circling through his ev’ry shift.
He sweeps the forest oft, and sobbing sees
The glades mild op’ning to the golden day,
Where in kind contest with his butting friends
He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy.’
The whole of the description of the frozen zone, in the Winter, is perhaps even finer and more thoroughly felt, as being done from early associations, than that of the torrid zone in his Summer. Any thing more beautiful than the following account of the Siberian exiles is, I think, hardly to be found in the whole range of poetry.