Poems (Taggart)/The Voice of the Wind

by Cynthia Taggart

THE VOICE OF THE WIND.

[The most striking images in these poems are peculiar to the authoress, being derived from her peculiar afflictions. Except her earnest invocations to sleep, that "balm of sweet forgetfulness" (p. 94), no longing of her heart is more apparent, than her intense desire for sympathy. But while the loneliness and obscurity of her situation on the sea-shore deprive her of the sympathy of man, they open her ears to the "voice of the Lord in majesty," which she hears in the storm as it rushes by her casement. Perhaps, in such circumstances, she may be forgiven for imagining that even the drops of rain that fall against her little window are the tears which Heaven itself sheds over human sufferings. Thus, in the commencement of the following poem, her mind seems to be turning from her disappointed hope in man, to sympathy from a higher source.]

1829.

But list! O list! the mighty Harp,
 Devoid of frame or strings,
Touched by a hand omnipotent,
 With tones celestial rings;

With awful notes now swelling high.
 Bearing mysterious power,
Then sinking soft with gentle voice,
 Breathing of Mercy's dower.

O list again! the soothing sound
 Of Sympathy is near;
Enchanting tones aerial
 Burst on the captive ear.

Ah! yes, and now the pitying tears
 Fast falling bathe the ground;
Weeping the woe, the grief, the fears
 That wretchedness surround.

Then cease, my soul, no more repine;
 The healing mercy flows:
Blest Sympathy, with voice benign,
 Her cordial gifts bestows.