Original - Duke Divinity School

Dublin Miscellany 8
(On a Lady Throwing Snow-balls
by Mr. Concanen.) 9
[p.] 75 To the bleak Winds on barren Sands,
While Delia dares her Charms expose,
To missile Globes with glowing hands,
She forms the soft descending Snows.
The lovely Maid from every part
Collecting, molds with nicest care,
The Flakes less frozen than her heart,
Or than her downy Bosom fair.
On my poor Breast her Arms she tries;
Level’d at me, like darted Flame
From Jove’s red Hand, the Pellet flies,
As swift-its Course, and sure its Aim.
Cold as I thought the fleecy rain,
Unshock’d I stood, nor fear’d a smart,
While latent Fires with pointed pain,
Shot thro’ my Veins, and pierc’d my heart.
Or with her Eyes she warm’d the Snow,
(What Coldness can their Beams withstand?)
Or else, (who would not kindle so?)
It caught th’ Infection from her Hand.
8Matthew Concanen (1701–49), editor, Miscellaneous Poems; Original and Translated (London: J. Peele,
1724) [Binder’s Title “Dublin Miscellany”].
9Concanen, editor, “On a Lady’s Throwing Snowballs, an Ode,” by the same, pp.75–77.
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