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Poem by John Lapraik


STERN Winter comes, with threatning frown,
	Now it must have its place;
The sun grows weak, and seems far spent,
	While frosts all growth deface.

The verdant foliage of each tree
	Is stript and torn away,
While Spring and Summers bloom we fee,
	Can now no longer stay.

The Winter now the sceptre sways,
	And nipping North winds blow;
The frosts and ice make all obey,
	Blind Mills that they cant go.

Most beings feel its furous hand,
	And with reluctance yield:
Te flowing rills arrested stand,
	While snow oerspreads the field.

Great tempests roll along the sky;
	The beasts in forests groan!
Beneath its force they weary lie,
	Though hid from raging storm.

The plaid-wrapt herd stands shivring, cold,
	And dares not speel yon rocks,
To seek such sheep as may be smoord,
	And lie as snugs a fox.

The bleating flock, of meat so keen,
	Goes nibbling round the hill;
Evn when the Herd does fore complain,
	Rude Boreas blows chill.

In irn-bound frost the grass lies dead,
	And flowrs that charmd the eye;
Yet balmy Zephyrs shall succeed,
	And all that frost destroy.

Some other climes beyond the line,
	Have now their sultry day;
Though we lie here and fore repine,
	We know of its decay.

Yet still theres something gives delight;
	Loud thunders seldom roll,
And earthquakes seldom us affright,
	That terrify the soul!

May fancy bid hot climes farewell;
	Diseases there do rise;
In this cold clime were healthy still;
	Were under milder skies.

Then why should we think foreign climes
	Excell our native land,
Where furous earthquakes oft destroy
	Whats givn by Natures hand?

The sun appears to lose its strength,
	When that the days grow short;
The early night resumes its length,
	Yet seldom does man hurt.

The skies each morning are serene,
	The clouds all swept aside;
The streams with ice congealed are,
	Till wet with some spring tide.

The tenants of the grove all droop,
	With cold they cannot sing;
They Blackbird now forgets her song,
	Her harp the colds unstring.

This Winter that hath shut the year,
	Perhaps my life may close,
Then from the stage Ill disappear,
	And quit my joys and woes!

Where are my former years now gone,
	Or what avails my smile,
Since Death, with his malignant frown,
	Doth my hopes beguile?

May magination build more high,
	Than things on earth that lie,
And may my thoughts, with ready sigh,
	Reach far beyond the sky!


My Muse she begs to shift the scene,
	While storms and tempests roar;
Shes not well pleasd in this cold time;
	Shes haughty, proud and sour.

She bids me leave my pen, and fly
	Straight to some public Inn,
Where fire and whisky storms defy,
	And sons of Bacchus sing.

Then send a friendly quaff of Ale
	Round, foaming oer the lips;
In evry pint a whisky gill,
	Between twa tankards mix.

Then fly the moments sweetly by,
	Though storms that house invest,
Till fumes of drink and sleep betray
	And lull our tongues to rest.

John Lapraik

Poem Theme: Winter

John Lapraik's other poems:
  1. An Empty Pocket Easily Known
  2. The Devils Answer to the Poets Address
  3. Epistle to R****t B***s
  4. When I Upon Thy Bosom Lean
  5. Harvest

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • William Shakespeare Winter ("When icicles hang by the wall")
  • Dante Rossetti Winter ("How large that thrush looks on the bare thorn-tree!")
  • Robert Southey Winter ("A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee")
  • Samuel Johnson Winter ("No more the morn with tepid rays")
  • Robert Burns Winter ("THE wintry wast extends his blast")
  • William Morris Winter ("I am Winter, that do keep")
  • Charles Mackay Winter ("When the tempests fly")
  • George Russell Winter ("A DIAMOND glow of winter oer the world")
  • Janet Hamilton Winter ("Loud blaw the wild an' wintry win's")
  • Edith Nesbit Winter ("HOLD your hands to the blaze")
  • Anne Hunter Winter ("Behold the gloomy tyrants awful form")
  • Henry Alford Winter ("Had I the wondrous magic to invest")

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