251
THE ICE-KING.
The wrathful Winter prochynge on a pace,
With blust'ring blastes had al ybared the treen,
An old Saturnus with his frosty face
With chilling colde had pearst the tender green:
The mantles rent wherein enwrapped been
The gladsom groves that nowe longe overthrowen,
The tapets torn, and every blome down blowen.
The soyle that earat so semely was to seen,
Was all despoyled of her beauties hewe:
And soote freshe flowers (wherewith the summer's queen
Had clad the earth) now Boreas blastes downe blewe,
And small fowles flocking in their song did rewe
The winter's wrath, wherewith eche thing defaste
In woful wise bewayled the summer past.
Hawthorne had lost his motley lyverye,
The naked twigges were shivering all for colde;
And dropping down the teares abundantly;
Eche thing (me thought), with weping eye me tolde
The cruell season, bidding me with-holde
My selfe within, for I was gotten out
Into the feldes, wheras I walkte about.
Sackville.
Scowling Winter looked grimly out
From the gate of his icy Hall;
But the forest-trees were still wrapped about
In their painted splendour, and in the route
Of the merry breeze waved they all.
Too gay and bright
