Classic Poem

Blow Boreas, Foe to human kind!
Blow, blustering, freezing, piercing Wind!
Blow, that thy Force I may rehearse;
While all my Thoughts congeal to Verse!

Blow, and the strongest Proofs dispense
To ev'ry doubtful Reader's Sense!
But chiefly chill the Critic's Nose,
Who dares the Truths I sing oppose!

Where'er old hoary Winter's fear'd,
There thou with trembling Art rever'd:
In thee the dreaded Pow'r remains
By which the snowy Monarch reigns.

The Leaves that beautify'd the Trees,
And wav'd before a sofrer Breeze;
Torn off by thee, are scatter'd round,
To wither on the rusty Ground.

Where rapid Rivers us'd to flow,
To Glass the silent Waters grow:
Ev'n Oozy Thames submits to thee;
Thames , like the neighb'ring Vallies, free!

To the proud Czar 's terrific Fleet,
Which half the Nations fear to meet;
Thou dost thy strict Injunctions give — —
Nor can it stir without thy Leave.

Thy Presence on Britania 's Plains
To Chimney-Corner drives her Swains:
There thy Severity they shun;
And thither I would gladly run!

But I (so Jove and Fate command)
Expos'd to all thy Rage must stand:
Condemn'd the Tyranny to bear,
Unpity'd, half the tedious Year!

Tho' close begirt with Garments three,
Not Garments can defend from thee;
Thy penetrating Force will find
Or Hole before, or Slit behind!

In vain my Hands my Bosom hides!
In vain I shield them by my Sides!
In vain exhale the warmer Air,
Which my too feeble Lungs prepare!

In vain upon the distant Tiles
The God of Day indulgent Smiles!
His Influence I should never know,
But for the Drops of melted Snow.

The melted Snow beneath my Feet
Still makes thy Empire more compleat — —
My aged Shoes, not Water proof,
Admit those Droppings of the Roof.

Full in my Face is always driv'n,
By thee, whate'er descends from Hiav'n;
Or Snow, or Rain, or Sleet, or Hail — —
Nor can the Penthouse aught avail!