lf in what immediately succeeds--

"Then, sad dispersed,
Dig for the wither'd herb through heaps of snow."

For, as they disperse, they do look very sad--and no doubt are so; but
had they been in despair, they would not so readily, and constantly, and
uniformly, and successfully, have taken to the digging, but whole flocks
had perished.

You will not, we are confident, be angry with us for quoting a few lines
that occur soon after, and which are a noble example of the sweeping
style of description which, we said above, characterises the genius of
this sublime poet:--

"From the bellowing east,
In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing
Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains
At one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks,
Hid in the hollow of two neighbouring hills,
The billowy tempest whelms; till, upward urged,
The valley to a shining mountain swells,
Tipp'd with a wreath high-curling in the sky."

Well might the Bard, with such a snow-storm in his imagination, when
telling the shepherds to be kind to their helpless charge, addressed
them in language which, in an ordinary mood, would have been bombast.
"Shepherds," says he, "baffle the raging year!" How? Why merely by
filling their pens with food. But the whirlwind was up--

"Far off its coming _groan'd_,"

and the poet was inspired. Had he not been so, he had not cried, "Baffle
the raging year;" and if you be not so, you will think it a most absurd
expression.

Did you ever see water beginning to change itself into ice? Yes. Then
try to describe the sight. Success in that trial will prove you a poet.
People do not prove themselves poets only by writing long poems. A
line--two words--may show that they are the Muse's sons. How exquisitely
does Burns picture to our eyes moonlight water undergoing an ice-change!

"The chilly frost beneath the silver beam,
Crept, gently crusting o'er the glittering stream!"

Thomson does it with an almost finer spirit of perception--or
conception--or memory--or whatever else you choose to call it; for our
part, we call it genius--

"An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool
_Breathes a blue film_, and in its mid career
Arrests the bickering stream."

And afterwards, having frozen the entire stream into a "crystal
pavement," how strongly doth he conclude thus--

"_The whole imprison'd river growls below._"

Her