St. Nicholas, St. Swithin, Whatever

Years ago, I read a book about Jane Austen's Christmas celebrations, which were nowhere as elaborate as Christmas celebrations today. Somewhere in that book, the author hinted that Jane had written a poem that was something like the famous "Night Before Christmas." Since then, I have wondered about this poem and occasionally searched for it. Wouldn't it be great, I thought, if I could blog about this poem at Christmastime?
Well, I finally found said poem, and it has nothing to do with Christmas, or winter, or St. Nicolaus. It does, however, have a saint standing on a roof. The saint in question is St. Swithin, the patron saint of Winchester Cathedral, which was located near Austen's home and is also where she was laid to rest. According to legend, if it rained on St. Swithin's day (July 15), it was bound to rain for the next forty days.She wrote this poem on July 15, 1817, two days before her death, and it just goes to show that Jane had a bit more spunk than most people gave her credit for. Here she was on her death bed, and she wrote a humorous poem about horse racing.
When Winchester racesWhen Winchester races first took their beginningIt is said the good people forgot their old SaintNot applying at all for the leave of Saint SwithinAnd that William of Wykeham’s approval was faint.
The races however were fixed and determinedThe company came and the Weather was charmingThe Lords and the Ladies were satine’d and erminedAnd nobody saw any future alarming.–
But when the old Saint was informed of these doingsHe made but one Spring from his Shrine to the RoofOf the Palace which now lies so sadly in ruinsAnd then he addressed them all standing aloof.
‘Oh! subjects rebellious! Oh Venta* depravedWhen once we are buried you think we are goneBut behold me immortal! By vice you’re enslavedYou have sinned and must suffer, ten farther he said
These races and revels and dissolute measuresWith which you’re debasing a neighboring PlainLet them stand–You shall meet with your curse in your pleasuresSet off for your course, I’ll pursue with my rain.Ye cannot but know my command o’er JulyHenceforward I’ll triumph in shewing my powersShift your race as you will it shall never be dryThe curse upon Venta is July in showers–‘.
*Venta is the old Roman name for Winchester.