Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/633

 1850-GO.] ROSELLA RICE, 617 I will whisper, Charlie Lee, Other stories unto thee — Dost remember how I longed For the highest blooms, where thronged Humming-birds and yellow bees, On the rough crab-apple trees ? And the limbs so gnarled, there Caught thy curls of golden hair ; But thy laugh rang out in glee — Noble-hearted Charlie Lee. I have whispered, Charlie Lee, Childish stories unto thee — Manhood's seal is on thy brow. And thou carest little now For our childhood's sunny time, Like unto a rippling rhyme. That we lisped in baby years, Ere we knew of hopes and fears ; Sunniest hours! how blest were we — Little Rose, and Charlie Lee. THE NIGHT WIND'S REVEL. Comes the wild wind round the corner. Like the piteous wail of mourner; — 'Tis of one, a mother weeping. O'er the crib where lieth sleeping The babe whose slumber is unwaking, Though the mother's heart be breaking. How like her wail, thou mocking wind ! Ah, lonesome night ! Ah, mocking wind ! Comes the wild wind round the corner. Like the frenzied wail of mourner : — 'Tis of one whose heart is broken, But whose woe is else unspoken. Glad hands that reached for treasures rare, Poor hands that found but empty air — Tightly clasp together now. O'er a throbbing, burning brow ! How like her wail, thou treach'rous wind ! Ah, lonesome night, and mocking wind ! Comes the wild wind round the corner, Like the piteous sob of mourner ; From wail and shriek it falleth now vSinking down to sobbing low. 'Tis of one whose pathway led Among green graves of silent dead, Who loved to sit where willows weep ! Ah, faithless winds, thy sobs sound so — Mournfully, like her sobbing low ! Come night winds like weeping mourners, Wailing, sobbing, round the corners ! Come with soughs, and shrieks, and cries. Mad minions of the stormy skies ! — Though the weeper's wail ye bear, And mock the frenzy of despair, Jubilant bear the tearful moan. The quivering sigh, and dying groan ; Though your wails unearthly be, And your crying paineth me. Yet I close my eyes and pray. With my wandering thoughts away, — Away in dark and desolate homes, Where pale sorrow, sad-eyed, comes, Whence the piteous cries go out. Caught up by the wild wind's rout. And borne, sad notes, on wings along. Commingling in exultant song ! SPIRITS OF THE WILDWOOD. Where the wanderer's foot hath seldom trod — Where scarce a thought, unless of God, Could fill the heart, oh, then and there The wildwood spirits fill the air ! Within the glen, upon the hill. The waterfall, the tinkling rill. Within the vale embosomed deep By trees and vines, and rocky steep, Alone in deep, sweet solitude, Dwell the wild spirits of the wood.