06 November 2013

A Ballad of Winter - An 1827 Poem

By Boston Bard.
Loud blows the winds, with blustering breath,
And snows fall cold upon the heath,
And hill and vale look drear :
The torrents foam with headlong roar,
And trees their chilly load deplore,
And drop the icy tear.
The little birds with wishful eye
For alms unto my cottage fly,
Since they can boast no hoard;
Sharp in mine house the pilgrims peep,
But Robin will not distance keep,
So percheth on my board.
Come in ye little minstrels sweet,
And from your feathers shake the sleet,
And warm your freezing blood :
No cat shall touch a single plume,
Come in sweet choir — nay fill my room,
And take of grain a treat;
Then flicker gay about my beams
And hop and do what pleasant seems,
And be a joyful throng,
'Till spring may clothe the naked grove;
Then go and build your nests — and love,
And thank me with a song.
January 17, 1827. Norwich Courier 5(42): 4.