a ter night
poor naked wretches, wheree&039;er you are,
that bide the peltg of this pitiless stor!
how shall your hoeless heads, and unfed sides,
your loop&039;d and dow&039;d ragdness, defend you
fro seans such as these?—shakespeare
when bitg boreas, fell and dour,
sharp shivers thro&039; the leafless bow&039;r;
when phoeb gies a short-liv&039;d glow&039;r,
far uth the lift,
di-dark&039;ng thro&039; the fky show&039;r,
or whirlg drift:
ae night the stor the steeples rocked,
poor bour sweet sleep was locked,
while burns, wi&039; snawy wreaths up-choked,
wild-eddyg swirl;
or, thro&039; the g outlet bocked,
down headlong hurl:
list&039;ng the doors an&039; nocks rattle,
i thought on the ourie cattle,
or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle
o&039; ter war,
and thro&039; the drift, deep-irg, sprattle
beneath a scar
ilk happg bird,—wee, helpless thg!
that, the rry onths o&039; sprg,
delighted to hear thee sg,
what es o&039; thee?
whare wilt thou w&039;r thy chitterg g,
an&039; close thy e&039;e?
ev&039;n you, on urderg errands toil&039;d,
lone fro your sava hos exil&039;d,
the blood-sta&039;d roost, and sheep-te spoil&039;d
y heart fets,
while pityless the tepest wild
re on you beats!
now phoebe her idnight reign,
dark-uff&039;d, view&039;d the dreary p;
still crowdg thoughts, a pensive tra,
rose y ul,
when on y ear this pntive stra,
slow, len, stole:—
“blow, blow, ye ds, with heavier gt!
and freeze, thou bitter-bitg frost!
descend, ye chilly, sotherg snows!
not all your ra, as now united, shows
ore hard unkdness unrelentg,
venful alice unrepentg
than heaven-il&039;d an on brother an bestows!
“see stern oppression&039;s iron g
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