The Kentucky Gazette

HOW COLD IT IS.

NOW the blustering Boreas blows,
See all the waters round us froze;
The trees that skirt the dreary plain
All day a murmuring cry maintain,
The trembling forest hears their moan
And sadly mingles groan with groan;
How dismal all from east to west!
Heav'n defend the poor distressed!
Such is the tale, on hill and vale;
Each trav'ler may behold it is;
While low & high, are heard to cry,
Bless my heart, how cold it is!

Now slumbering sloth, that cannot bear
The question of the biting air,
Lifts up her unkempt head and cries,
But cannot from her bondage rise,
The while the housewife briskly throws
Around her wheel, and sweetly shows
The healthful cheek industry brings,
Which is not in the gift of kings.
To her song life, devoid of strife,
And justly too unfolded is,
The while the Sloth, to stir is loth,
And trembling cries, how cold it is!

Now lisps the Fopling, tender weed!
All shivering like a shaken reed!
How keen the air attacks my back!
"John, place some list upon that crack,
Go, sand-bag all the sashes round,
"And see there's not an airhole found,
Ah! bless me, now I feel a breath,
""Good lack 'tis like the chill of death.
Indulgence pale tells this sad tale,
Till he in furs infolded is,
Still, still complains, for all their pains
Bless my heart, how cold it is!

Now the poor newsman from the town
Explores his path along the down,
His frozen fingers sadly blows,
And still he seeks, and still it snows.
Go, take his paper, Richard go,
And give a dram to make him glow:
This was thy cry, humanity,
More precious far than gold it is,
Such gifts to deal, when newsmen
feel,
All clad in snow, how cold it is.

Humanity, delightful tale!
While we feel the winter gale,
May the cit in ermin'd coat,
Incline the ear to sorrow's note;
And where with mis'ry's weight op
press'd,
A fellow sits a shivering guest,
Full ample let his bounty flow,
To soothe the bosom chill'd by woe.
In town or vale, where'er the tale
Of real grief unfolded is,
O may he give the means to live.
To those who know how cold it is.

Perhaps some warrior blind and lamed,
Some tar for independence maim'd—
Consider these, for thee they bore
The loss of limb, and suffer'd more:
O pass them not! or if you do,
I'll sigh to think they fought for you.
Go pity all, but 'bove the rest,
The soldier or the tar distressed:
Tho' winter's reign, relieve their pain
For what they've done, sure bold it is:
Their wants supply, whene'er they
cry,
Bless my heart how cold it is!

And now ye sluggards, sloths & beaux,
Who dread the breath that winter blows
Pursue the counsel of a friend,
Who never found it yet offend:
While Winter deals his frost around.
Go face the air, and beat the ground;
With cheerful spirits exercise,
Tis there life's balmy blessing lies.
On hill and dale, tho'sharp the gale
And frozen you behold it is:
The blood shall glow & sweetly flow,
And you'll ne'er cry how cold it is!