While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. - Thomas Campbell

But sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.

There shall he love when genial morn appears,
Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears.

Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep
The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep!
Though boundless snows the withered heath deform,
And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm,
Yet shall the smile of social love repay,
With mental light, the melancholy day!
And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er,
The ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore,
How bright the fagots in his little hall
Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall!