VILLAGE VOICES.
I.
JANUARY WIND.
I
The wind, wife, the wind; how it blows, how it blows;
It grips the latch, it shakes the house, it whistles, it screams, it crows,
It dashes on the window-pane, then rushes off with a cry,
Ye scarce can hear your own loud voice, it clatters so loud and high;
And far away upon the sea it floats with thunder-call,
The wind, wife, the wind, wife; the wind that did it all!
II
The wind, wife, the wind; how it blew, how it blew;
The very night our boy was born, it whistled, it scream'd, it crew;
And while you moan'd upon your bed, and your heart was dark with fright,
I swear it mingled with the soul of the boy you bore that night;
It scarcely seems a winter since, and the wind is with us still,—
The wind, wife; the wind, wife; the wind that blew us ill!
III
The wind, wife, the wind; how it blows, how it blows!
It changes, shifts, without a cause, it ceases, it comes and goes;
And David ever was the same, wayward, and wild, and bold—
For wilful lad will have his way, and the wind no hand can hold;
But ah! the wind, the changeful wind, was more in the blame than he;
The wind, wife; the wind, wife, that blew him out to sea!
IV
The wind, wife; the wind; now 'tis still, now 'tis still;
And as we sit I seem to feel the silence shiver and thrill,
'Twas thus the night he went away, and we sat in silence here,
We listen'd to our beating hearts, and all was weary and drear;
We long'd to hear the wind again, and to hold our David's hand—
The wind, wife; the wind, wife, that blew him out from land!
V
The wind, wife, the wind; up again, up again!
It blew our David round the world, yet shriek'd at our window-pane;
And ever since that time, old wife, in rain, and in sun, and in snow,
Whether I work or weary here, I hear it whistle and blow,
It moans around, it groans around, it comes with scream and cry—
The wind, wife; the wind, wife; may it blow him home to die!
II.
APRIL RAIN.
I
Showers, showers, nought but showers, and it wants a week of May,
Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, are hid in the green and the gray;
Green buds and gray shoots cover their sparkling gear,
They stir beneath, they long to burst, for the May is so near, so near,—
While I spin and I spin, and the fingers of the Rain
Fall patter, pitter, patter, on the pane.
II
Showers, showers, silver showers, murmur and softly sing,
Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, are swelling and hearkening;
It wants a week of May, when my love and I will be one,
The flowers will burst, the birds will sing, as we walk to church in the sun.
So patter goes my heart, in a kind of pleasant pain,
To the patter, pitter, patter of the Rain.
III.
SUMMER MOON.
I
Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, across the west you fly,
You gaze on half the earth at once with sweet and steadfast eye;
Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, were I aloft with thee,
I know that I could look upon my boy who sails at sea.
II
Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, you throw your silver showers
Upon a glassy sea that lies round shores of fruit and flowers,
And on the blue tide's silver edge drop blossoms in the breeze,
And the shadow of the ship lies dark near shades of orange-trees.
III
Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, now wind and storm have fled,
Your light creeps thro' a cabin-pane and lights a flazen head:
He tosses with his lips apart, lies smiling in your gleam,
For underneath his folded lids you put a gentle dream.
IV
Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, his head is on his arm,
He stirs with balmy breath and sees the moonlight on the Farm,
He stirs and breathes his mother's name, he smiles and sees once more
The Moon above, the fields below, the shadow at the door.
V
Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, across the lift you go,
Far south you gaze and see my Boy, where groves of orange grow!
Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, you turn again to me,
And seem to have the smile of him who sleeps upon the sea!
IV.
DECEMBER SNOW.
I
The cold, cold snow! the snow that lies so white!
The moon and stars are hidden, there is neither warmth nor light—
I wonder, wife—I wonder, wife—where Jeanie lies this night?
II
'Tis cold, cold, cold, since Jeanie went away,
The world has changed, I sit and wait, and listen night and day,
The house is silent, silent, and my hair has grown so gray—
'Tis cold, cold, cold, wife, since Jeanie went away.
III
And tick! tick! tick! the clock goes evermore,
It chills me, wife—it seems to keep our bairn beyond the door;
I watch the firelight shadows as they float upon the floor,
And tick! tick! tick! wife, the clock goes evermore!
IV
'Tis cold, cold, cold!—'twere better she were dead,
Not that I heed the Minister, and the bitter things he said,—
But to think my lassie cannot find a place to lay her head—
'Tis cold, cold, cold, wife—better she were dead!
V
The cold, cold snow! the snow that lies so white!
Beneath the snow her little one is hidden out of sight,
But up above, the wind blows keen, there's neither warmth nor light,
I wonder, wife—I wonder, wife—where Jeanie lies this night!
