 | Poems |  |
122
SONNET STANZAS.
[Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem—]
Ανεμων π=νεοντων, την ηχω προσκυνει.
Pythagoras.
Pythagoras.
Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem—
Aut, gelidas hybernus aquas cum fuderit Auster,
Securem somnos, imbre juvante, sequi!
Tibullus.
Aut, gelidas hybernus aquas cum fuderit Auster,
Securem somnos, imbre juvante, sequi!
Tibullus.
I love to hear the high winds pipe aloud,
When 'gainst the leafy nations up in arms;
Now screaming in their rage, now shouting, proud;
Then moaning, as in pain at war's alarms:
Then softly sobbing to unquiet rest;
Then wildly, harshly, breaking forth again,
As if in scorn at having been repress'd;
With marching sweep careering o'er the plain.
And, oh! I love to hear the gusty shower
Against my humble casement pattering fast,
While shakes the portal of my quiet bower;
For then I envy not the noble's tower,
Nor, while my cot thus braves the storm and blast,
Wish I the tumult of the heavens past.
When 'gainst the leafy nations up in arms;
Now screaming in their rage, now shouting, proud;
Then moaning, as in pain at war's alarms:
Then softly sobbing to unquiet rest;
Then wildly, harshly, breaking forth again,
As if in scorn at having been repress'd;
With marching sweep careering o'er the plain.
And, oh! I love to hear the gusty shower
Against my humble casement pattering fast,
While shakes the portal of my quiet bower;
For then I envy not the noble's tower,
123
Wish I the tumult of the heavens past.
Yet wherefore joy I in the loud uproar?
Does still life cloy, has peace no charms for me?
Pleases calm nook and ancient tome no more,
But do I long for wild variety?
Ah! no; the noise of elements at jar,
That bids the slumbers of the worldling close,
Lone Nature's child, does not thy visions mar,—
It does but soothe thee to more sure repose.
I sigh not for variety nor power,
My cot, like castled hall, can brave the storm;
Therefore I joy to list the sweepy shower
And piping winds, at home, secure and warm;
While soft to heaven my orisons are sent
In grateful thanks for its best boon, content!
Does still life cloy, has peace no charms for me?
Pleases calm nook and ancient tome no more,
But do I long for wild variety?
Ah! no; the noise of elements at jar,
That bids the slumbers of the worldling close,
Lone Nature's child, does not thy visions mar,—
It does but soothe thee to more sure repose.
I sigh not for variety nor power,
My cot, like castled hall, can brave the storm;
Therefore I joy to list the sweepy shower
And piping winds, at home, secure and warm;
While soft to heaven my orisons are sent
In grateful thanks for its best boon, content!
| Poems | |