Two Songs

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —

Blustering, boisterous wind, that bloweth over the bracken,
 Rending the knotted oak, and tearing the stalwart pine,
Never for one short pause do thy wild courses slacken,
 Hurrying, scurrying by, with slashing sting of the brine.

Roaring, and rolling along with the force of the full Atlantic,
 Bending the fern-leaf 'd beech, and breaking the poplar's pride,
Driving the giant chiefs and lords of the forest frantic,
 Writhing their mighty limbs in tortuous circles wide.

On over boulder and crag, with a fury that brooks no negation,
 Bellowing back to the blast, booming aloud to the vale,
Now like the sweep of a scythe, as it moweth in close serration,
 Now like the rush of a torrent lash'd white with wintry hail.

On over bracken and ling, over bilberry, gorse and heather,
 Raying their silvery sides in the light of the westering sun,
On over bramble and broom, where the tall grasses blow together,
 On in the joy of battle, in the armour of victories won!

Quieted now are the million, murmurous voices of summer,
 Only the thud of the surf in the beat of a surging sea,
Whilst over above the gale the voice of the fierce newcomer --
"I am the breath of a spirit that wandereth ever free!"