Published anonymously in an American newspaper. O WILD wind, blowing out of the West, And sweeping across my soul! O wild wind, give me a little rest
Till my wounded heart be whole!
Blow out of the north, blow out of the south,
Blow out of the east to me!
But Eve in the west has filled her mouth
With words of prophecy.
For hate is chill, and love is warm,
And the tale of youth is sweet;
But the west wind tells of a fearful storm my soul has yet to meet.
By a new American poet named WILLIAM W. STORY.
ALONE, without a friend or foe,
Upon the rugged cliff I stand
And see the valley far below
Its social world of trees expand;
A hermit pine I muse above,
And dream and wait for her I love,
For her, the fanciful and free,
That brings my purest joy to me.
Oft dancing from the laughing sea
When morning blazes on my crest,
All wild with life and gaiety
She springs to me with panting breast.
Her sun-spun ringlets loosely blown,
And eyes that seem the dawn to own,
She greets me with impetuous air
And shakes the dewdrops from my hair.
At midnight as I stand asleep,
While constellations stream above,
I hear her up the mountain creep
With sighs and whispers full of love:
There in my arms she gently lies,
And breathes mysterious melodies,
And with her childlike winning ways
Among my leaves and branches plays.
Heap'd in the winter's snowy shroud,
With icy fingers to each limb,
Or drench'd by summer's thunder-cloud,
Of her, and her alone, I dream;
And where the trees are bending low,
And the broad lake with crispèd flow
Darkens its face despite the sun,
I watch her through the valley run.
Sometimes, when parched in summer noon,
She brings me odours from the east,
And draws a cloud before the sun,
And fans me into peaceful rest.
my siesta while I drowse
She rustling slips amid my boughs,
And teases me, the while that I
In dreamy whispers make reply.
Sometimes, as if in fierce despair,
The tears of passion on her face,
With tempest locks and angry air
She round me flings her wild embrace,
And sobs, and moans, and madly storms,
And struggles in my aching arms
Until, the wild convulsion past,
She falls away to sleep at last.
And if my fate at length ordain
This fallen trunk of mine to bear
Some stately vessel o'er the main,
I know she'll not forget me there.
And oft the sailor 'mid the gale,
Above my corse shall hear her wail
And sob with tears of agony,
Far out on the Atlantic sea.
By RUFUS DAWES, an American poet.
THE Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light,
And wheels her course in a joyous flight;
I know her track through the balmy air,
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there;
She leaves the tops of the mountains green,
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.
At morn I know where she rested at night,
For the roses are gushing with dewy delight;
Then she mounts again, and around her flings
A shower of light from her purple wings,
Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high,
That silently fills it with ecstasy!
At noon she hies to a cool retreat,
Where bowering elms over waters meet;
She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip,
That smiles, as it curls, like a maiden's lip,
When her tremulous bosom would hide in vain,
From her lover, the hope that she loves again.
At eve she hangs o'er the western sky,
Dark clouds for a glorious canopy;
And round the skirts of each sweeping fold
She paints a border of crimson and gold,
Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay
When their god in his glory has passed away.
She hovers around us at twilight hour,
When her presence is felt with the deepest power;
She mellows the landscape and crowds the stream
With shadows that flit like a fairy dream;
Still wheeling her flight through the gladsome air,
The Spirit of Beauty is everywhere.
Translated from the Dutch of JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL, who was born at Keulen, in 1587. At the early age of thirteen he is said to have been noticed by Hooft. His education, however, was much neglected, as he did not commence a course of study until he was more than twenty-six years of age. He acquired a very extensive general knowledge, and as a poet has never been rivalled in Holland. His tragedies are, perhaps, the grandest specimens of Dutch literature. His Lucifer is the most splendid and inspired poem in the language, and has often been compared with our Milton's Paradise Lost. The following is a passage in his great poem of Lucifer.
WHO sits above heaven's heights sublime,
Yet fills the grave's profoundest place,
Beyond eternity, or time,
Ör the vast round of viewless space:
Who on Himself alone depends-
Immortal-glorious-but unseen-
And in His mighty being blends
What rolls around or flows within.
Of all we know not-all we know—
Prime source and origin-a sea,
Whose waters pour'd on earth below
Wake blessing's brightest radiancy.
His power-love-wisdom, first exalted
And waken'd from oblivion's birth
Yon starry arch-yon palace, vaulted-
Yon heaven of heavens-to smile on earth.
From His resplendent Majesty
We shade us 'neath our sheltering wings,
While awe-inspired and tremblingly
We praise the glorious King of kings,
With sight and sense confused and dim;
O name, describe the Lord of lords,
The seraph's praise shall hallow Him;
Or is the theme too vast for words?
'Tis God who pours the living glow
Of light, creation's fountain-head:
Forgive the praise-too mean and low-
Or from the living or the dead.
No tongue Thy peerless name hath spoken,
No
space can hold that awful name;
The aspiring spirit's wing is broken ;—
Thou wilt be, wert, and art the same!
Language is dumb-Imagination,
Knowledge, and Science, helpless fall;
They are irreverent profanation,
And Thou, O God! art all in all.
How vain on such a thought to dwell!
Who knows Thee-Thee the All-unknown?
Can angels be Thy oracle,
Who art-who art Thyself alone?
None-none can trace Thy course sublime,
For none can catch a ray from 'l'hee,
The splendour and the source of time-
The Eternal of eternity.
Thy light of light outpour'd conveys
Salvation in its flight elysian,
Brighter than e'en Thy mercy's rays;-
But vainly would our feeble vision
Aspire to Thee. From day to day
Age steals on us-but meets Thee never: Thy power is life's support and stay
We praise Thee-sing Thee, Lord! for ever.
Holy-holy-holy! Praise
Praise be His in every land; Safety in His presence staysSacred is His high command!
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