V. ADDRESS TO A CHILD, During a boisterous Winter Evening. BY A FEMALE FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. WHAT way does the Wind come? What way does he go? He rides over the water, and over the snow, Through wood, and through vale; and o'er rocky height Which the goat cannot climb takes his sounding flight. He tosses about in every bare tree, As, if you look up, you plainly may see; He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk, Yet seek him, — and what shall you find in the place? Nothing but silence and empty space, Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves, As soon as 'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me Hark! over the roof he makes a pause, But let him range round; he does us no harm, We build up the fire, we're snug and warm ; Untouch'd by his breath see the candle shines bright, And burns with a clear and steady light; Books have we to read, hush! that half-stifled knell, Methinks 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell. Come, now we'll to bed! and when we are there He may work his own will, and what shall we care? He may knock at the door, we'll not let him in, May drive at the windows, — we'll laugh at his din; Let him seek his own home wherever it be; Here's a cozie warm House for Edward and me. VI. THE MOTHER'S RETURN. BY THE SAME. A MONTH, Sweet Little-ones, is passed O blessed tidings! thought of joy! And shouted, Louder and louder did he shout With witless hope to bring her near; "Nay, patience! patience, little Boy! Your tender Mother cannot hear." I told of hills, and far-off towns, No strife disturbs his Sister's breast; The bonds of our humanity. Her joy is like an instinct, joy She dances, runs without an aim, Her Brother now takes up the note, Then, settling into fond discourse, We rested in the garden bower; While sweetly shone the evening sun In his departing hour. We told o'er all that we had done, – Our rambles by the swift brook's side Far as the willow-skirted pool Where two fair swans together glide. |