The Winds.

Harp on, ye winds !  in glad content,1
                        
                        Your hymns on every instrument2
                        
                        Of rock, and mount, and cave ;3
                        
                        The trees their joyful notes will bring,4
                        
                        Each flower, each blade of grass, will sing5
                        
                        Your measures, glad or grave.6
                        And not to me alone the songs7
                        
                        That to your minstrelsy belongs,8
                        
                        Of joys that never cease ;9
                        
                        The lonely spring, the quiet stream,10
                        
                        The lake low murmuring as in dream,11
                        
                        Have heard your hymns of Peace.12
                        The nightingale, in sweetest note,13
                        
                        To you her lone complaint hath brought,14
                        
                        To you each bird hath sung ;15
                        
                        The weed-clad tower of ancient time,16
                        
                        The church-bell’s solitary chime,17
                        
                        Have join’d your banner’d throng.18
                        Who, who may tell whence ye arise ?19
                        
                        In what far region of the skies ?20
                        
                        In what high forest tree ?21
                        
                        Ye come as rushing hosts of war,22
                        
                        As loosen’d cataracts heard afar,23
                        
                        As thunders of the sea.24
                        Or fanning round the wild bird’s wing,25
                        
                        Or by the moon’s cold pathways sing26
                        
                        Along the milky way ;27
                        
                        Or through fierce caves and arches high,28
                        
                        Where Ruin mocks the morning sky,29
                        
                        Ye woo the love-worn day.30
                        And whence that influence, dark and dim,31
                        
                        That wakes the soul’s Æolian hymn32
                        
                        To measures glad and gay ?33
                        
                        That breathes unto the midnight hour34
                        
                        Such spell of mystery and power35
                        
                        And holds monarchic sway ?36
                        That makes the Poet weep and sigh,37
                        
                        That gathers tears in Beauty’s eye,38
                        
                        And dreams around its head ;39
                        
                        That, breathed in sounds of awe and fear,40
                        
                        Doth sing unto crazed lover’s ear,41
                        
                        Old songs of maiden dead ?42
                        That treadeth where no foot can go,43
                        
                        That murmers where no fount can flow,44
                        
                        Where no proud pennant streams ;45
                        
                        That to the stars and to the moon46
                        
                        Doth ever sing a slumbering tune—47
                        
                        The very Queen of Dreams ?48
                        For ever breathed your hymns of love !49
                        
                        Ye called the laurel-seeking dove50
                        
                        Out from the foundering ark ;51
                        
                        Ye came to Ruth among the corn,52
                        
                        Singing of distant lands forlorn53
                        
                        Beyond the waters dark.54
                        Ye waved the rushes o’er the brow55
                        
                        Of Moses, when the lady saw56
                        
                        God’s chosen nod his head ;57
                        
                        Ye caught the stir of Jordan’s sea,58
                        
                        To Israel’s king ye sang in glee59
                        
                        Ere Absalom was dead.60
                        Ye speak to us of human life !61
                        
                        One hour of calm, one hour of strife,62
                        
                        Now bright, now dark your form !63
                        
                        At more ye sing to tree and flower,64
                        
                        The evening hears your tread of power,65
                        
                        And trembles in the storm.66
                        Ye speak of human life !  Ye go,67
                        
                        We know not where—ye have a flow68
                        
                        Wilder than ocean wave ;69
                        
                        Heaven scarce can hold ye, and the bound70
                        
                        Of earth knows not your various sound71
                        
                        More than the secret grave.72
                        Ye speak of human life !  now high,73
                        
                        Like thunder-clouds, ye brave the sky,74
                        
                        Now sleep ye by the streams ;75
                        
                        Ye are like the earthquakes roaring wild,76
                        
                        And then make music, as a child77
                        
                        That singeth in its dreams.78
                        Away, my fancies !  even now79
                        
                        I feel no more upon my brow80
                        
                        The mountain-breezes fall :81
                        
                        The stars are out, and I must go82
                        
                        Down to my quiet home below,83
                        
                        Among the poplars tall.84
                        And I, whilst dreaming in my bed,85
                        
                        Will list your dirges o’er my head86
                        
                        And think ye sing to me,87
                        
                        And dream that I have wings like you,88
                        
                        To fan the locks on heaven’s clear brow,89
                        
                        And roll unchain’d and free.90