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70
TO ÆOLUS.
I.
Old Æolus, thou king of winds!My rustic muse delighted finds
In thee whereof to sing;
To thee she tunes this simple lay,
And owns the charm-bestowing sway
Which thy free zephyrs bring.
Oft has she listened to thy strains
In some lone cot afar,
When thro' the chinks and broken panes
They stole upon her ear!
So lowly, so slowly,
The solemn plaintive moan;
Then clearly and cheerly
Piping a lofty tone.
II.
How rich thy tones when Autumn sereBeckons thy airy harpers here
To sing the falling leaf,
The hunter's gaily winding horn,
The yellow fields of waving corn,
The heavy-nodding sheaf!
Now with a distant hollow roar
They sweep the forest aisle,
Now whining at the cottage door
With their peculiar wail.
Then lifting and drifting
The forest leaves at will,
Or straying and swaying
The oaks upon the hill.
III.
And when November from the northInvites the early winter forth,
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Within my dwelling bright and warm
I'll bide the warring of the storm,
And list thy sounding lyre.
Again, those solemn strains I hear,
Struck by thy hand unseen!
Amid the pausing storm's career
And fitful gusts between.
I muse then, and choose then
In Fancy's realm to roam;
My mind there shall find there
Her welcome, native home!
IV.
When life's stern cares around me frown,And sorrows weigh my spirits down,
I never own their power;
But wake my viol's slumbering lay,
And o'er its gliding numbers play
To cheat the weary hour.
But let me catch a trembling tone
Of thy strange minstrelsy,
O, Æolus, I'll drop my own
And yield the palm to thee!
It thine is, not mine is,
Those magic sounds to draw;
So airy-like, so fairy-like,
They fill my soul with awe!
V.
The man, who pleased with Nature well,Delights upon her works to dwell,
Abundant theme may find
For sage reflection and review,
For meditation, hourly new,
E'en in the hollow wind.
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My muse, well-pleased, shall hear,
Until the icy hand of death
Lies heavy on her ear.
And blest, then, with rest, then,
Upon her lowly bed,
Ye'll stray there, and play there
A dirge above the dead!
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