Thy hoary head on Zembla’s frozen lap—
But hark! I hear from far thy voice unblest,
And see thy thick’ning storms the heavens enwrap.
Oh! then, in dreadful pity aim thy blow:
Let thy keen blasts congeal this vital dream,
Then o’er these limbs thy snowy mantle throw,
More useful far than Sol’s refulgent beam.
Thus let me leave a world of care and strife,
And wake to scenes of everlasting life.
MONIMIA.