Sonnets, Sonnet II

Though here almost eternal Winter reigns, And piercing deep the womb of Nature chills; Though born far off under a milder sky, The northern blast e'en through my marrow thrills, And freezes up the life-blood in my veins; The hardy natives o'er the mountains high, Trace out the step of Health amid the snow; Or where o'er the gray moss her bare feet stray: Hence active nerves, and scorn of danger flow; Hence when of late, call'd forth to mortal fray, At their approach, Revenge more furious grew, War smil'd, while triple Rage new steel'd his heart, Pale bloodless Fear turn'd to a ghastlier hue, And Death more dreadful shook his pointed dart.