Classic Poem

Hark , hark, I hear the North Wind roar,
See how he riots on the Shoar;
And, with expanded Wings outstretch,
Ruffels the Billows on the Beach.

Hark, how the routed Waves complain,
And call for Succor to the Main,
Flying the Storm as if they meant
To creep into the Continent.

Surely all Æoll's huffing Brood
Are met to War against the Flood,
Which seem surpriz'd, and have not yet
Had time his Levies to compleat.

The beaten Bark her Rudder lost,
Is on the rowling Billows tost;
Her Keel now Plows the Ouse , and soon
Her Top-Mast tilts against the Moon.

'Tis strange! the Pilot keeps his seat;
His bounding Ship does so curvet,
Whilst the poor Passengers are found,
In their own fears already drown'd.

Now Fins do serve for Wings, and bear
Their Scaly Squadrons through the Air;
Whilst the Air's Inhabitants do stain
Their gaudy Plumage in the Main.

Now Stars conceal'd in Clouds do peep
Into the Secrets of the Deep;
And Lobsters spued from the brine
With Cancer constellations shine.

Sure Neptune's Watery Kingdoms yet
Since first their Corral Graves were wet,
Were ne're disturbed with such alarms,
Nor had such trial of their Arms.

See where a Liquid Mountain rides,
Made up of innumerable Tides,
And tumbles headlong to the Strand,
As if the Sea would come to Land.

A Sail, a Sail, I plainly spy
Betwixt the Ocean and the Sky,
An Argosy , a tall built Ship,
With all her Pregnant Sails a-trip.

Nearer, and nearer, she makes way,
With Canvis Wings into the Bay;
And now upon the Deck appears
A crowd of busy Mariners.

Methinks I hear the Cordage crack,
With furrowing Neptune's foaming Back,
Who wounded, and revengeful roars
His Fury to the neighb'ring Shoars.

With massy trident high, he heaves
Her sliding Keel above the Waves,
Opening his Liquid Arms to take
The bold invader in his wrack.

See how she dives into his Chest,
Whilst raising up his floating Brest
To clasp her in, he makes her rise
Out of the reach of his surprize.

Nearer she comes, and still doth sweep
The Azure Surface of the deep,
And now at last the Waves have thrown
The Rider on our Albion .

Under the Black cliff's spumy base
The Sea-sick Hulk her fraight displays,
And as she walloweth on the Sand
Vomits her burthen to the Land.

With Heads erect, and plying Oar,
The ship-wracked Mates make to the Shoar;
And dreadless of their danger, climb
The floating Mountains of the brine.

Hark, hark, the noise their Eccho make
The Islands Silver Waves to shake;
Sure with these throws, the lab'ring Main
'S delivered of a Hurricane.

And see the Sea's becalm'd behind,
Not crispt with any breeze of Wind;
The Tempest has forsook the Waves,
And on the Land begins his braves.

Hark, hark their Voices higher rise,
They tear the Welkin with their Cries;
The very Rocks their fury feel,
And like Sick Drunkards nod, and reel.

Louder, and louder, still they come,
Nile's Cataracts to these are dumb;
The Cyclope to these Blades are still,
Whose Anvils shake the burning Hill.

Were all the Stars enlight'ned Skies,
As full of Ears as sparkling Eyes;
This rattle on the Chrystal Hall
Would be enough to deaf them all.

What monstrous Race is hither tost
Thus to Alarm our British Coast;
With Outcries such as never yet
War, or Confusion could beget.

Oh! now I know them Let us home:
Our Mortal Enemy is come,
Winter and all his blust'ring train
Have made a voyage o'er the Main.

Vanisht the Countrys of the Sun,
The Fugitive is hither run,
To ravish from our fruitful Fields
All that the teeming Season Yields.

Like an Invader, not a Guest,
He comes to Riot, not to Feast;
And in wild fury overthrows
Whatever does his march oppose.

With bleak and with congealing Winds,
The Earth in shining Chains he binds;
And still as he doth farther pass,
Quarries his way with Liquid Glass.

Hark! how the Blusterers of the Bear,
Their Gibbouse Cheeks in triumph tear,
And with continued Shouts do ring
The entry of their Palsy'd King.

The Squadron nearest to your Eye
Is his Forlorn of Infantry,
Bow-men of unrelenting Minds,
Whose Shafts are Feathered with the Winds.

Now you may see his Van-guard rise
Above the Earthy Precipice,
Bold Horse on bleakest Mountains bred,
With Hail instead of Provend fed.

Their Launces are the pointed Locks
Torn from the Brows of Frozen Rocks,
Their Shields are Chrystals as their Swords,
The steel the rusted Rock affords.

See the main Body now appears,
And hark the Aeolian Trumpetters
By their Hoarse Levets do declare
That the bold General rides there.

And look when Mantled up in white,
He steads it like the Muscovite :
I know him by the Port he bears
And his Life-guard of Mountaineers.

Their Caps are Fur'd with Hoary Frost,
Their Brav'ry their Cold Kingdom boasts:
Their spungy Plads are Milk-white Frieze,
Spun from the Snowy Mountain's Fleece.

Their Partizans are fine carved Glass
Fringed with the Mornings spangled Grass;
And, Pendant by their brawny Thighs,
Hang Cimetars of burnisht Ice.

See, see, the Reerward now has won
The Promontories trembling Crown,
Whilst at their numerous Spurs, the ground
Groans out a hollow murmering Sound.

The Forlorn now halts for the Van;
The Reer-guard draws up to the Main;
And now they altogether crowd
Their Troops into a threatning Cloud.

Fly, Fly; the foe advances fast—
Into our Fortress, let us hast
Where all the Roarers of the North
Can neither Storm, nor Starve us forth.

There under Ground a Magazine
Of Sovereign juice is collard in,
Liquor that will the Seige maintain
Shou'd Phoebus ne'er return again.

Till that, that gives the Poet rage,
And thaws the gelly'd Blood of Age;
Matures the Young, restores the Old,
And makes the fainting Coward bold.

It lays the careful Head to rest,
Calms Palpitations in the Breast,
Renders our Lives misfortune Sweet,
And Venus frolick in the Sheet.

Then let the chill Sciorocco blow,
And gird us round with Hills of Snow;
Or else go whistle to the Shoar,
And make the hollow Mountains roar.

Whilst we together jovial sit
Careless, and Crown'd with Mirth and Wit;
Where, though bleak Winds confine us Home,
Our fancies round the World shall roam.

We'll think of all the Friends we know,
And Drink to all worth Drinking to:
When having Drunk all thine and mine,
We rather shall want Health than Wine.

But where Friends fail us, we'll supply
Our friendships with our Charity:
Men that remote in Sorrows live,
Shall by our lusty Brimmers thrive.

We'll Drink the Wanting into Wealth,
And those that Languish into Health,
The Afflicted into Joy, th' Opprest
Into Security and Rest.

The Worthy in Disgrace shall find
Favour return again more kind,
And in restraint who stifled lye
Shall taste the Air of Liberty.

The Brave shall triumph in Success,
The Lovers shall have Mistresses,
Poor unreguarded Virtue Praise,
And the Neglected Poet Baies.

Thus shall our Healths do others good,
Whilst we our selves do all we wou'd;
For, freed from Envy and from Care,
What would we be but what we are?

'Tis the plump Grapes Immortal Juice
That does this happiness produce,
And will preserve us free together,
Maugre mischance, or Wind or Weather.

Then let Old Winter take his course,
And roar abroad till he be hoarse,
And his Lungs crack with Ruthless Ire,
It shall but serve to blow our Fire.

Let him our little Castle ply
With all his loud Artillery,
Whilst Sack and Claret Man the Fort,
His Fury shall become our Sport.

Or, let him Scotland take, and there
Confine the plotting Presbyter;
His Zeal may Freeze, whilst we, kept warm
With Love and Wine, can know no harm.