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Lyric Poems

Made in Imitation of the Italians. Of which, many are Translations From other Languages ... By Philip Ayres

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WINTER.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


89

WINTER.

When Autumn's past, sharp Eastern Winds do blow,
Thick Clouds obscure the Day,
Frost makes the Currents stay,
The Aged Mountains Hoary are with Snow.
Althô the Winter rage;
The wronged Trees Revenge conspire,
Its Fury they asswage;
Alive they serve for Fence, when dead for Fire;
All Creatures from its Out-rage fly,
Those which want Shelter or Relief must dye.

CHORUS.

But then,
In a short Space,
AUTUMN returns agen,
E're Sol has run his Annual Race:
But, Ah! When Death's keen Arrow flyes,
And hits Poor MAN,
Do what he can,
He dyes;
Returns to Dust, a Shadow, and a Nothing lyes.