Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/206
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THE WIND IN THE WOODS.
"Doth lofty roof delight thine eye,
Or stately pillar please?
Look, stranger, at yon azure sky,
And pillars such as these—
Where, wreathing round majestic trees,
The verdant ivy clings;
The pillared roofs the peasant sees
Are fit to shelter kings.
Or stately pillar please?
Look, stranger, at yon azure sky,
And pillars such as these—
Where, wreathing round majestic trees,
The verdant ivy clings;
The pillared roofs the peasant sees
Are fit to shelter kings.
"Stranger, the woodman's frugal fare
No sickly riots stain;
Nor ever hautboy's artful air
Could match yon throstle's strain;
And, if the stores of ample gain,
Thy useful avarice crave,
Go, stranger, teach the ruddy grain
O'er yonder wastes to wave.
No sickly riots stain;
Nor ever hautboy's artful air
Could match yon throstle's strain;
And, if the stores of ample gain,
Thy useful avarice crave,
Go, stranger, teach the ruddy grain
O'er yonder wastes to wave.
"Falsehood in beauty lies concealed,
Guilt haunts the deadly fight:
Here woods a harmless warfare yield,
And maids their true love plight—
Such simple joys of rustic wight,
To thee 'twere vain to tell;
But heavily fall the shades of night—
Now, stranger, fare thee well."
Guilt haunts the deadly fight:
Here woods a harmless warfare yield,
And maids their true love plight—
Such simple joys of rustic wight,
To thee 'twere vain to tell;
But heavily fall the shades of night—
Now, stranger, fare thee well."
The Wind in the Woods.
'Tis a pleasant sight, on a vernal day,
When shadow and sun divide the heaven,
To watch the south wind wake for play;—
Not on the sea, where ships are riven,—
Not on the mountain, 'mid rain and storm,
But when earth is sunny, and green, and warm.
O woodland wind, how I love to see
Thy beautiful strength on the forest tree!
When shadow and sun divide the heaven,
To watch the south wind wake for play;—
Not on the sea, where ships are riven,—
Not on the mountain, 'mid rain and storm,
But when earth is sunny, and green, and warm.
O woodland wind, how I love to see
Thy beautiful strength on the forest tree!
Lord of the oak, that seems lord of the wild,
Thou art shaking his crown and thousand arms
With the ease of a spirit, the glee of a child,
And the pride of a woman who knows her charms;
The poplar bends like a merchant's mast,
His leaves, though they fall not, are fluttering fast;
And the beech, and the lime, and the ash-crowned hill,
Stirs to its core at thy wandering will.
Thou art shaking his crown and thousand arms
With the ease of a spirit, the glee of a child,
And the pride of a woman who knows her charms;
The poplar bends like a merchant's mast,
His leaves, though they fall not, are fluttering fast;
And the beech, and the lime, and the ash-crowned hill,
Stirs to its core at thy wandering will.