The Court Magazine, 1833, Volume III, Page 134
III.—THE WANDERING WIND.
The wind, the wandering wind
Of golden summer eves!
Whence is the thrilling magic
Of its tones among the leaves?
Oh, is it from the waters
Or from the long, tall grass?
Or is it from the hollow rocks
Through which its breathings pass?
Or is it from the voices
Of all in one combined,
That it wins the tone of mastery?
The wind, the wandering wind!
No, no, the strange sweet accents
That with it come and go,
They are not from the osiers,
Or the fir-trees, whispering low.
They are not of the river,
Nor of the caverned hill:
'Tis the human love within us
That gives them power to thrill.
They touch the links of memory
Around our spirits twined,
And we start, and weep, and tremble,
To the wind, the wandering wind!
