SONG OF THE WIND.
At last I blew it into nought, and then the boy stood still;
And found the chase had tired him, as all such chases will:
But while I linger'd round the spot, I saw him turn and creep
Beneath a spreading chesnut-tree, and calmly fall asleep.
Man, like the child, will often run in close and fond pursuit
Of what will prove but thistle-down, or yield a bitter fruit;
But ah! unlike the tired child, 'tis rarely that his breast
Can meet its disappointed hopes with deep, unbroken rest.
And found the chase had tired him, as all such chases will:
But while I linger'd round the spot, I saw him turn and creep
Beneath a spreading chesnut-tree, and calmly fall asleep.
Man, like the child, will often run in close and fond pursuit
Of what will prove but thistle-down, or yield a bitter fruit;
But ah! unlike the tired child, 'tis rarely that his breast
Can meet its disappointed hopes with deep, unbroken rest.
On to the busy town I went, and fann'd the burning brow
That many an hour had fed the loom, or faced the furnace glow;
Lips never dimpled with a smile, all tintless, parch'd, and thin,
Parted as I went wafting by, and gladly drank me in.
I play'd about the shrivell'd hand, whose hard and fever'd palm
Grew somewhat softer as it felt my cool, refreshing balm.
The tear-drop that was trickling from a friendless orphan's eye
Was lightly breathed upon by me, and soon the cheek was dry.
That many an hour had fed the loom, or faced the furnace glow;
Lips never dimpled with a smile, all tintless, parch'd, and thin,
Parted as I went wafting by, and gladly drank me in.
I play'd about the shrivell'd hand, whose hard and fever'd palm
Grew somewhat softer as it felt my cool, refreshing balm.
The tear-drop that was trickling from a friendless orphan's eye
Was lightly breathed upon by me, and soon the cheek was dry.
I wander'd on till suddenly I heard a fervent prayer,
That gasp'd the last of mortal need in "Give, oh, give me air!"
I rush'd beside the bed of death—the dying one had gold,
But he had piled it round his heart, and kept that heart too cold;
He clung to earth like leech to blood, but, ah! he had forgot
To weave the strongest of earth's ties, Affection's silken knot,
And when his latest moments came, no kindred could he find,
None round him but the hireling, and the wandering, zephyr Wind.
That gasp'd the last of mortal need in "Give, oh, give me air!"
I rush'd beside the bed of death—the dying one had gold,
But he had piled it round his heart, and kept that heart too cold;
He clung to earth like leech to blood, but, ah! he had forgot
To weave the strongest of earth's ties, Affection's silken knot,
And when his latest moments came, no kindred could he find,
None round him but the hireling, and the wandering, zephyr Wind.
Again I sought the fragrant fields, and merrily I rung
A fairy peal of changes where the bonnie blue-bells hung;
And soon there came the grasshoppers, the ladybirds, and bees;
And never was a purer host of willing devotees.
I bow'd the bulrush to the stream, I sway'd the willow-bough,
And push'd a mimic boat along till ripples wash'd the prow.
I gallop'd with the noble steed, freed from his girth and rein,
And proudly did I toss about his thick and flying mane.
I sped across the lonely waste, and there I heard strange tones,
For I had swung the gibbet-chains against the bleaching bones;
A fairy peal of changes where the bonnie blue-bells hung;
And soon there came the grasshoppers, the ladybirds, and bees;
And never was a purer host of willing devotees.
I bow'd the bulrush to the stream, I sway'd the willow-bough,
And push'd a mimic boat along till ripples wash'd the prow.
I gallop'd with the noble steed, freed from his girth and rein,
And proudly did I toss about his thick and flying mane.
I sped across the lonely waste, and there I heard strange tones,
For I had swung the gibbet-chains against the bleaching bones;
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