December

Last of the months, severest of them all, Woe to the regions where thy terrors fall! Hail to thy tempests, which the deep deform, Thrice hail thy ruthless hurricane and storm! Now Eolus, let forth thy mightiest blast, By land to rock the spire, by sea the mast; Let earth and ocean feel thy potent sway, And give thy blasts their full impetuous way: For lo! the fiery horses of the sun Thro' the twelve Signs their rapid course have run, Time, like a serpent, bites his forked tail, And Winter on a Goat bestrides the gale; Rough blows the north wind near Arcturus' star, And sweeps, unrein'd, across the polar bar, On the world's confines, where the sea-bears prowl, And Greenland whales, like moving islands, roll: There, thro' the skies, on brooms, are seen to ride, The Lapland wizzard, and his hellish bride; There, on a sledge, the rain-deer drives the swain To meet his mistress on the frost-bound plain: Have mercy, Winter!—for we own thy power, Thy flooding deluge, and thy drenching shower; Yes—we acknowledge what thy prowess can, But oh! have pity on the toil of man! And, tho' the floods thy adamantine chain Submissive wear—yet spare the treasur'd grain: The peasants to thy mercy now resign The infant seed—their hope and future mine: Not always Phoebus bends his vengeful bow, Oft in mid winter placid breezes blow, Oft tinctur'd with the bluest transmarine, The fretted canopy of heaven is seen; Girded with argent lamps, the full-orb'd moon In mild December emulates the noon; Tho' short the respite, if the saphire blue Stains the bright lustre with an inky hue; Then a black wreck of clouds is seen to fly, In broken shatters, thro' the frighted sky: But if fleet Eurus scour the vaulted plain, Then all the stars propitious shine again; Like Myra's face appears the vivid scene, And, like her mind, free, open, and serene.