When mourn the dark Winds o'er the lonely plain,
And from pale noon sinks, ere the fifth cold hour,
The transient light, Imagination's power,
With Knowledge, and with Science in her train,
Not unpropitious Hyems’ icy reign
Perceives; since in the deep and silent lour
High themes the rapt concent'ring Thoughts explore,
Freed from external Pleasure's glittering chain.
Then most the understanding's culture pays
Luxuriant harvest, nor shall Folly bring
Her aids obtrusive.— Then, with ardent gaze,
The INGENIOUS to their rich resources spring,
While sullen Winter's dull imprisoning days
Hang on the vacant mind with flagging wing.