re artu'

What ho! thou genius of this isle, what ho!

Liest thou asleep beneath those hills of snow?

Stretch out thy lazy lims. Awake, awake!

And winter from thy furry mantle shake.

What power art thou, who from below

Hast made me rise unwillingly and slow

from beds of everlasting snow?

See'st thou not how stiff and wondrous old,

far unfit to bear the bitter cold,

I can scarcerly move or draw my breath?

Let me, let me freeze again to death