Cornelius Webb Poems

COLD January comes in Winter's car,
Thick hung with icicles-its heavy wheels
Cumbered with clogging snow, which cracks and peels
With its least motion or concussive jar
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Not farther than a fledgling's weak first flight,
In a low dell, standeth an antique grove;
Dusky it is by day, but when 'tis night,
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LIKE as that lion through the green woods came,
With roar which startled the hushed solitudes,
Yet, soon as he saw Una, that white dame
To Virtue wedded, quieted his rude
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