Poem by Anne Hunter

Winter

Behold the gloomy tyrant’s awful form
Binding the captive earth in icy chains;
His chilling breath sweeps o’er the watery plains,
Howls in the blast, and swells the rising storm.

See from its centre bends the rifted tower,
Threat’ning the lowly vale with frowning pride,
O’er the scared flocks that seek its sheltering side,
A fearful ruin o’er their heads to pour.

While to the cheerful hearth and social board
Content and ease repair, the sons of want
Receive from niggard fate their pittance scant;
And where some shed bleak covert may afford,
Wan poverty, amidst her meagre host
Casts round her haggard eyes, and shivers at the frost.

1. To a Friend on New Year’s Day
2. Song 13. SPRING returns, the flowrets blow
3. Song 10. O Tuneful voice, I still deplore
4. Addressed to Mrs. G.
5. Song 2. FAR from this throbbing bosom haste

Henry Alford Winter ("Had I the wondrous magic to invest")

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