Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell

Bell, Charles Dent (1818-1898)

[section]

THE ROSY DAWN.

TAORMINA, SICILY.

SPRING.

THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW.

IN THE ESCURIAL.

BY THE SEA—KYNANCE COVE.

A SUMMER DAY AT AMBLESIDE.

AN AUTUMN DAY AT AMBLESIDE.

A SUMMER EVENING IN BRATHAY CHURCHYARD.

THE SPRING.

TO A CHILD.

“I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY.”

“IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD?”

THE DREAM OF PILATE'S WIFE.

II.

III.

LORD NANN AND THE FAIRY.

II.

III.

MERLIN, THE BARD.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

FOR MUSIC.

LINES FOR A SILVER WEDDING.

SONNETS.

SONNET.

HOPE.

A STORY OF THE CRIMEAN WAR.

THE WIGTON MARTYRS.

A VISION.

AN INCIDENT IN THE AUSTRIAN CAMP.

II.

III.

A PASTOR'S PORTRAIT.

LOW-BREATHING WINDS.

SPRING.

THEKLA'S SONG.

THE NIGHT CHARGE AT KASSASSÍN.

AMBLESIDE CHURCHYARD AT EASTERTIDE.

SPRING-TIME.

MARTIN LUTHER.

FOX HOW.

II.

III.

IV.

RONDEAUX.

I. WORKS DEATH SUCH CHANGE?

II. I WOULD NOT SHRINK.

III. HE DOES NOT COME.

IV. BEFORE HE PASSED.

V. NOT FOR THE DEAD.

VI. SLEEP THEY NOT WELL?

VII. WITHDRAW THE VEIL.

VIII. CLEAR-SIGHTED FAITH.

IX. “IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.”

X. THE SWEET SAD YEARS.

XI. SHALL IT BE MINE?

XVIII. THE TIME WILL COME.

XIX. MARY OF BETHANY.

II.

THE HORSE-SHOE FALLS.

II.

“PER ANGUSTA AD AUGUSTA.”

II.

“AND THERE SHALL BE NO NIGHT THERE.”

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

LOW-BREATHING WINDS.

Low-breathing winds, that sob and pass us by,
What mean ye by that sad and plaintive sigh
That wails from earth and reaches to the sky?

Come ye from homes bereaved or fields of slain,
From scenes where cruelty and murder reign,
From sickness unrelieved or death-bed pain?

Bear ye the knowledge of some hidden woe,
A secret sorrow that ye only know;—
Why not unburthen it and let it go?

Is it for ills that curse the earth, ye moan,
False love that hides deception in its tone,
Or haply for hurt souls that weep alone?

231

Mourn ye for wrong triumphant over right,
The poor who suffer, or the proud who smite,
For guilty deeds that dread and shun the light?

I would not ye should cease, sad winds, to mourn,
While weary hearts with wasting griefs are torn,
And loved ones' ashes fill the tear-washed urn.

So long as Nature, groaning, is in fear,
'Tis only fitting that upon the ear
Sounds of her travail fall distinct and clear.

Then let me mourn with you her bitter woe,
I cannot choose but weep to see her throe;
Whether I will or not, the tears will flow.

Low-breathing winds, that sob and pass us by,
Until the air is burthened with your cry,
I wonder which is saddest, you or I?

University of Virginia Library

LOW-BREATHING WINDS.