Spring brings the swallow and the lark,
But what will winter bring?
Its twilight hours and evenings dark
To match the gift of spring?
No, look with me o'er that swollen main;
If my spirit's eye can see,
There are brave ships floating back again
That no calm southern port can chain
From Gondal's stormy sea.
Oh! how the hearts of voyagers beat
To feel the frost-wind blow!
What follows in Ula's garden sweet
Is worth one flake of snow.
The blast which almost rends their sail
Is welcome as a friend;
It brings them home, that thundering gale,
Home to their journey's end;
Home to our souls whose wearying sighs
Lament their absence drear;
And oh, how bright even winter skies
Would shine if they were here!
December 19, 1843.