NATURE. JANUARY WIND. ROBERT BUCHANAN. ABRIDGED. THE wind, wife, the wind; how it blows, how it blows! It grips the latch, it shakes the house, it whistles, it screams, it crows, It dashes on the window-pane, then rushes off with a cry, You scarce can hear your own loud voice, it clatters so loud and high; And far away upon the sea, it floats with thunder-call, The wind, wife, the wind, wife; the wind that did it all! The wind, wife, the wind; how it blows, how it blows! It changes, shifts without a cause, it ceases, it comes and goes; And David was ever the same, wayward, and wild and bold; For wilful lad will have his way, and the wind no hand can hold; But ah! the wind, the changeful wind, was more to blame than he; The wind, wife, the wind, wife; that blew him out to sea! 335 The wind, wife, the wind; now 'tis still, now 'tis still. And as we sit, I seem to feel the silence shiver and thrill. 'Twas thus the night he went away, and we sat in silence here, We listened to our beating hearts, and all was heavy and drear; We longed to hear the wind again, and to hold our David's hand, The wind, wife, the wind, wife; that blew him out from land! The wind, wife, the wind; up again, up again! It blew our David round the world, yet shrieked at our window-pane ; And ever since that time, old wife, in rain, and in sun, and in snow, Whether I work or weary here, I hear it whistle and blow. It moans around, it groans, it wanders with scream and cry, The wind, wife, the wind, wife; may it blow him home to die! TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. THOU blossom bright with autumn dew, |