The Land of the Muses a poem, In the Manner of Spenser. With Poems on several Occasions. By Hugh Downman |
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| I. |
| II. | SONNET II.
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| III. |
| IV. |
 | The Land of the Muses |  |
SONNET II.
[Though here almost eternal Winter reigns]
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,
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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.
| The Land of the Muses | |