The New Hampshire Gazette And Historical Chronicle

JANUARY. A HEROICAL POEM.

Nec tibi tam prudens quifquam perfuadeat auctor
Tellurem Borea rigidam,, spirante movere ;
Rura gelu tum claudit hiems ; nec emine jacto,
Concretam paititur radicem afligere teirae.

VIRGIL.

The year begins with January's cold,
By frost's severest wint'ry's rage controul'd ;
Soon as the weakly dawn up lifts her eye.
And morning light proclaims the day spring nigh
I view the hills, the vales, the meads and plains,
And see old Hiems unrelenting reigns
-O'er all:--with tyrant pow'r despotic sway,
And frowning rigid, rigid rules the day.
Amidst his waste, see yon sad valley lie,
That us'd with charms to greet the raptur'd eye ;
See from the chambers of the frigid north
In varied form, old Winter issues forth !
With snow attended, or with freezing wind,
In crystal bonds that doth the rivers bind,
When the blithe skater skims along the main-
And wings his passage thwart the icy plain,
Which now indignant feels the northern pole,
And lockt in ice, forgets its pompous roll.
Whence, frost amazing pow'r, deriv'd from whence,
Dost thou severely spread thy reign immense.
Thro' earth and ocean ; and the fleeting air ;
Unyielding grove, or wood, or plain to spare
Say, why dost thou thus cement the falling floods,
Arrests the streams, and glistens o'er the woods,
Imprisons rivers, crystallizes hills,
Calms the cascade, the rushing torrent stills :
Or why, ye gelid gales,-replete with snow,
Do you descend to cover all below
In lucid show'rs ;---Why thus your treasures pour.
And nature's face with whiteness cover o'er
Why clothe the trees in silver-seeming gear,
And alabid robes invest the winter'd year?
When, in one vale, unjoyous nature lies.
A prey to winter, and inclement skies ;
When artful toils for starving birds are laid,
And every herb and every plant's decay'd ;
Then, lo ! the ploughmen seiz'd by piercing cold,
Blow their numb'd fingers or their arms enfold,
As to the folds they whistling tramp their way,
At morn, at noon, and at the eve of day ?--
When, borne on Zephyr's wings, no odours rise,
Nor larks melodious tempt the angry skies ;
No sylvan pipe inspires the cottag'd vale,
Nor echo warbles to the ambient gale ;
Harmonious sounds that us'd the ear to fill,
With more than transport from Alexis' reed !
Ah ! where are hid the bow'rs of flow'ry greens,
The vernal shades :--those bliss-abounding scenes ?
Where's Flora fled, and where the fairies gone?,
That danc'd so late our verdant plains upon ?
Struck with a dread !--all ! all now disappear,
And fly the unwelcome January year !