Page:An English Garner Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (Volume 1 1877).pdf/227

 * With bleak and with congealing winds, The earth in shining chains he binds; And still as he doth further pass, Quarries his way with liquid glass.

Hark! how the blusterers of the Bear, Their gibbous cheeks in triumph tear; And with continued shouts do ring The entry of their palsied King.

The squadron nearest to your eye Is his Forlorn of infantry; Bowmen of unrelenting minds, Whose shafts are feathered with the winds.

Now you may see his Vanguard rise Above the earthly precipice; Bold horse, on bleakest mountains bred, With hail instead of provend fed.

Their lances are the pointed locks, Torn from the brows of frozen rocks; Their shields are crystals, as their swords, The steel the rusted rock affords.

See the Main body now appears! And hark! the Æolian trumpeters, By their hoarse levets, do declare That the bold General rides there.

And look where mantled up in white He sleds it like the Muscovite. I know him by the port he bears, And his life-guards of mountaineers.