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THE VOICE OF THE WIND.
The voice of the wind seems wailing,
But it breathes no wail to me;
'T is only a tone and a message
From one lying under the sea.
“Hath the storm-wind a voice, dear mother?
And what does it seem to say,
When it comes to the window at night-fall,
Or lifts up the latch in its play?”
“Come hither, my little daughter,
And kneel in the red fire-light,
And put back the curls from thy forehead,
And lift up thine eyes so bright.”
“Why trembles the hand, dear mother,
You 're laying upon my hair?
And why do you droop your eyelids,
So heavy with tears or care?”
“I think of a grave, my daughter,
Where the storm-winds sing their hymn,
And a shroud of pearl and coral,
And mine eyes with tears are dim.
But it breathes no wail to me;
'T is only a tone and a message
From one lying under the sea.
“Hath the storm-wind a voice, dear mother?
And what does it seem to say,
When it comes to the window at night-fall,
Or lifts up the latch in its play?”
“Come hither, my little daughter,
And kneel in the red fire-light,
And put back the curls from thy forehead,
And lift up thine eyes so bright.”
“Why trembles the hand, dear mother,
You 're laying upon my hair?
And why do you droop your eyelids,
So heavy with tears or care?”
“I think of a grave, my daughter,
Where the storm-winds sing their hymn,
And a shroud of pearl and coral,
And mine eyes with tears are dim.
103
“There are lids like thine, my daughter,
Closed under the salt sea's flow,
And a voice that I love is blending
With the winds, in a murmur low.
“A stately ship, one morning,
Went forth on the smiling main,
But she never sent back any message,
And she never came again,
“Till a night, when the storm-winds, blowing,
Stole into my lonely room,
And told me a tale in the darkness,
And whispered my name in the gloom.
“Then I knew that the winds had laid him
Where the sky is blue above,
And the South Sea lifts his tresses,
Like the hand of one we love!
“And the wind and the storm, my daughter,
They make my heart rejoice,
For ever I catch the echoes
Of a well-remembered voice!
“Thou art asleep now, little daughter,
And thy head is upon my knee,
But the wind wails on in the darkness,
In its flight from the desolate sea;
“And the hopes of my youth are shrouded
With the days that once have been,
And I heed not the rain that falls without
For the tears that fall within.”
Closed under the salt sea's flow,
And a voice that I love is blending
With the winds, in a murmur low.
“A stately ship, one morning,
Went forth on the smiling main,
But she never sent back any message,
And she never came again,
“Till a night, when the storm-winds, blowing,
Stole into my lonely room,
And told me a tale in the darkness,
And whispered my name in the gloom.
“Then I knew that the winds had laid him
Where the sky is blue above,
And the South Sea lifts his tresses,
Like the hand of one we love!
“And the wind and the storm, my daughter,
They make my heart rejoice,
For ever I catch the echoes
Of a well-remembered voice!
“Thou art asleep now, little daughter,
And thy head is upon my knee,
But the wind wails on in the darkness,
In its flight from the desolate sea;
“And the hopes of my youth are shrouded
With the days that once have been,
And I heed not the rain that falls without
For the tears that fall within.”
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