Hymns and Poems Original and Translated: By Edward Caswall ... Second Edition |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | VIII. TO THE WINDS. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
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 | Hymns and Poems |  |
VIII. TO THE WINDS.
Benedicite, omnes spiritus Dei, Domino.
Sweet Breeze, all thanks to thee,
Who, as but now upon the grass I lay,
Leaving thy comrades gay,
Didst round about me play;
And fanning with thy balmy breath my cheek,
Didst in mine ear most eloquently speak;
Leading me on, as through a meadow bright,
With tinted flowers bedight;
And still fresh-budding memories didst bring,
Cull'd from my boyhood's spring,
And lay them at my feet
In many a posy sweet,
Delighted in my heart of early times to sing.
Who, as but now upon the grass I lay,
Leaving thy comrades gay,
Didst round about me play;
And fanning with thy balmy breath my cheek,
Didst in mine ear most eloquently speak;
382
With tinted flowers bedight;
And still fresh-budding memories didst bring,
Cull'd from my boyhood's spring,
And lay them at my feet
In many a posy sweet,
Delighted in my heart of early times to sing.
For much I loved the winds in my young days;
Whereof thou, Breeze, aware,
Didst take my spirit up,
And in thy lap transport her back again
To times of youth gone by;
When in the clouds aloft
My swooping kite they bore;
Or blew my ship across the mimic waves;
Or lull'd me half asleep,
With deep Eolian murmurs of the pines;
Or swept the thistledown across the plain,
Mocking my pursuit void;
Or for my pleasure lash'd the cornfields up
Into a troubled sea,
I gazing down from some hill-side the while!
Whereof thou, Breeze, aware,
Didst take my spirit up,
And in thy lap transport her back again
To times of youth gone by;
When in the clouds aloft
My swooping kite they bore;
Or blew my ship across the mimic waves;
Or lull'd me half asleep,
With deep Eolian murmurs of the pines;
Or swept the thistledown across the plain,
Mocking my pursuit void;
Or for my pleasure lash'd the cornfields up
Into a troubled sea,
I gazing down from some hill-side the while!
Of these things, then, O Breeze,
Most sweetly didst thou sing,
From thought to thought
Leading me unawares.
Nor of thy Mother Air
Wast thou without thy tale;
Nor of the numerous brethren whom thou hast,
Through the world's quarters spread:
Far different from herself,
As oft in children seen:
She evermore the same;
A changeful people they!
For tranquil is the Air,
In her own nature view'd;
God's wondrous instrument
Of manifold design,
Answering to many ends!
A harp invisible,
Rich with unnumber'd tones!
A magic scroll, on which the tongue of man
Writes at his will irrevocable words!
A mirror of our thoughts
By speech reflected forth!
Our life-blood's food!
A censer laden with all Nature's incense!
A treasure-house of dew and quick'ning showers!
The fuel of all fires!
A crystal screen betwixt the sun and earth,
Blending all rays, and melting light's sharp edge!
An ocean all unseen,
This earth encircling round,
Wherein we walk, and know it not,
As men upon the bottom of the deep!
A globe immense,
Receptacle of Nature's divers forms,
Abode of countless mutabilities,
Itself from age to age
The same abiding still!
Most sweetly didst thou sing,
From thought to thought
Leading me unawares.
Nor of thy Mother Air
Wast thou without thy tale;
Nor of the numerous brethren whom thou hast,
Through the world's quarters spread:
Far different from herself,
As oft in children seen:
She evermore the same;
A changeful people they!
383
In her own nature view'd;
God's wondrous instrument
Of manifold design,
Answering to many ends!
A harp invisible,
Rich with unnumber'd tones!
A magic scroll, on which the tongue of man
Writes at his will irrevocable words!
A mirror of our thoughts
By speech reflected forth!
Our life-blood's food!
A censer laden with all Nature's incense!
A treasure-house of dew and quick'ning showers!
The fuel of all fires!
A crystal screen betwixt the sun and earth,
Blending all rays, and melting light's sharp edge!
An ocean all unseen,
This earth encircling round,
Wherein we walk, and know it not,
As men upon the bottom of the deep!
A globe immense,
Receptacle of Nature's divers forms,
Abode of countless mutabilities,
Itself from age to age
The same abiding still!
But restless are the winds her progeny,
Restless, and full of change;
Motion their life, in motion evermore,
Strange creatures, and a marvel in their ways!
Various their haunts!
More various still the tempers they display,
Constant alone in their inconstancy!
Now freezing cold,
From the far wintry pole;
Now breathing warm and rich
From spicy climes; now sharp with arrowy sleet
Of Tartary; now booming loud and long
Portentous of the coming hurricane;
Now gentle as a lamb;
Now rudely blustering, or fiercely vex'd,
And now most sweetly sad;
Anon quite mad they seem
At window-casement heard,
As though an entrance forcing for themselves;
Wild raving beasts of night!
Listening to whom
The sick man cannot sleep;
Or if he sleep, 'tis vain,—
In dreams they follow still.
Yet e'en in this they work Thine ends, O Lord;
And Thou to each hast given
Its immemorial tone;
Whereby it preaches to the heart of man,
Concerning deeds long past,
And Judgment sweeping nigh,
Reminding conscience of forgotten things
Amidst the midnight storm!
Restless, and full of change;
Motion their life, in motion evermore,
Strange creatures, and a marvel in their ways!
Various their haunts!
More various still the tempers they display,
Constant alone in their inconstancy!
Now freezing cold,
From the far wintry pole;
384
From spicy climes; now sharp with arrowy sleet
Of Tartary; now booming loud and long
Portentous of the coming hurricane;
Now gentle as a lamb;
Now rudely blustering, or fiercely vex'd,
And now most sweetly sad;
Anon quite mad they seem
At window-casement heard,
As though an entrance forcing for themselves;
Wild raving beasts of night!
Listening to whom
The sick man cannot sleep;
Or if he sleep, 'tis vain,—
In dreams they follow still.
Yet e'en in this they work Thine ends, O Lord;
And Thou to each hast given
Its immemorial tone;
Whereby it preaches to the heart of man,
Concerning deeds long past,
And Judgment sweeping nigh,
Reminding conscience of forgotten things
Amidst the midnight storm!
| Hymns and Poems | |