Classic Poem

In Scythia 's Realms, no Herbage on the Fields,
No Leaves, in Winter, on the Trees are seen:
But Frost, and Ice, and ridgy Heaps of Snow,
Sev'n Ells in Height, deform the Country round.
Eternal Winter reigns, and freezing Winds.
The Sun ne'er dissipates the hazy Gloom;
Not when his Steeds mount upwards to the Sky,
Nor when He washes in the Ocean's Waves,
Red with his Beams, his prone descending Car.
The running Streams to sudden Crusts congeal:
The Water on it's Surface Iron Wheels
Sustains: and Carts are driv'n, where Lighters sail'd.
Brass splits: Their rusling Garments stiffen frore;
With Axes Wine is hewn; To solid Glass
The standing Puddles in the Dykes are turn'd:
And Icicles hang rigid from their Beards.