Poems by James Thomson

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems

He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems,

Into his freshened soul; her genial hours

He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows

And not an opening blossom breathes in vain.

In summer he, beneath the living shade,

Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave

Or Hemus cool, reads what the Muse, of these

Perhaps, has in immortal numbers sung:

by James Thomson

Cattle In Summer

Around th' adjoining brook, that purls along

The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock,

Now scarcely moving through a reedy pool,

Now starting to a sudden stream, and now

Gently diffused into a limpid plain

A various group the herds and flocks compose.

Rural confusion! on the grassy bank

Some ruminating lie; while others stand

by James Thomson

Dawn In Summer

When now no more th' alternate twins are fired,

And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,

Short is the doubtful empire of the Night;

And soon, observant of approaching Day,

The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,

At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east:

Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;

And, from before the lustre of her face,

by James Thomson

Happiness of a Country Life

Oh! knew he but his happiness, of men

The happiest he, who, far from public rage,

Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired

Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.

What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate

Each morning vomits out the sneaking crowd

Of flatt'rers false, and in their turn abused?

Vile intercourse! What though the glitt'ring robe,

by James Thomson

A Summer Noon

'Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun

Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.

O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye

Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all

From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.

In vain the sight, dejected, to the ground

Stoops for relief; thence hot ascending steams

And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root

by James Thomson

Mists In Autumn

Now, by the cool, declining year condescend,

Descend the copious exhalations, check'd,

As up the middle sky unseen they stole,

And roll the doubling fogs around the hill.

No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime,

Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides,

And high between contending kingdoms rears

The rocky long division, fills the view

by James Thomson

A Man Perishing in the Snow: From Whence Reflections are Raised on the Miseries of Life

As thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce,

All winter drives along the darken'd air;

In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain

Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend,

Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,

Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain;

Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid

Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on,

by James Thomson

Evening In Summer

Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds,

All ether softening, sober Evening takes

Her wonted station in the middle air;

She sends on earth; then that of deeper dye

Steals soft behind; and then a deeper still,

In circle following circle, gathers round,

To close the face of things. A fresher gale

Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream,

by James Thomson

The Four Seasons : Winter

See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,

Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;

Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,

These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,

And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms,

Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,

Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,

When nursed by careless Solitude I lived,

James Thomson

The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,

While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,

Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,

Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost

Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring

Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns

Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,

Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.

James Thomson

Death of the Stag

The stag, too, singled from the herd, where long

He ranged, the branching monarch of the shade,

Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed

He, sprightly, puts his faith, and, roused by fear,

Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight;

Against the breeze he darts, that way the more

To leave the lessening murderous cry behind:

He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades,

by James Thomson

A Paraphrase On The Latter Part Of The Sixth Chapter Of St Matthew

When my breast labours with oppressive care,

And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear:

While all my warring passions are at strife,

Oh! let me listen to the words of life!

Raptures deep-felt his doctrine did impart,

And thus he rais'd from earth the drooping heart.

"Think not, when all your scanty stores afford,

Is spread at once upon the springing board;

by James Thomson