Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1831-01-13

oth0t OF tne great ana IVlng IntellIgences
of nature, that claims more extended do
minion, and awakens a separate and un-
taught feeling. 1t is the viewless vel
mighty Wind:-whether breathed in the
soft and grateful air Of summer, or SWELL
ing in the terrific strivings of the winter
storm-whether it gently stirs the leaf on
the green bow of the forest, or tears the
oak from its ancient and rooted bed-alike
IT tells OF majesty and power, and stands
forth amid the wonders of creation, en-
dowed with spirit that mingles with the
! elements and moves them at his WILL
We feel it in the faint hues of twilight,
tanning the check with its airy wings, and
smoothing the anguish of the troubled boz
som and when the big tornado comes
bounding over the mountains, crashing the
tall trees, and bringing desolation upon the
beautiful and peaceful valley, we pause to
contemplate the devastation of its awful
footsteps, and raise our thoughts to the
Being who " rides upon the whirlwind and
directs the Storm" 1t urges the gentle
gale that watts the mariner towards his
destined haven, while the smoothly un-
dulating sea sparkles in the sunbeams and
dances beneath his prov; and when the
wrathtnl hurricane booms along the sur
face of the waters and bows the gallant ship
| before the sweeping Of its stormy pinions.
it enters into and rules the wide commo-
ton. And who is insensible to the dis
course of its strong and emphatic language
who can listen to its tones when he
| stands upon the mountain top and hears
them as they wall around him, and not re-
| ceive the impress of the saddened feeling
they seem 10 articulately express or when
the light breeze freshens, and springs up
like warriour armed for battle-when its
rushing resembles the boundings of the war;
horse as it comes careering past him, who
does not catch the stirring impulse and re-
spond to the thrillings of patriotic ardor!
When the poet wanders forth to mark
the beauties of nature and feed his fancy
| with her glowing images, he welcomes the
zephyr that sports around his path, laden
with Fragrance rom the sunny south :"
for he feels than the sweetest inspiration of
his Tyre springs from the memories that
gush up from their silent fount at the ma
gic whisperings of its voice, and he woos its
influence: he acknowledges poetry to be
an inherent principle in the harmonies of
the visible world, and catches its softer
beauties from the mild and playful breeze,
while the deep and rushing gale gives birth
to its widest intonations. Even in the
crowded city, where the structures ofhuman
pride and human necessity cucumber the
fair surface of creation, the wind-god cheers
the peopled, DESERT" when he comes like
guardian angel TO visit the cheeks of its
pcnt-up inmates, and chase away the dense
and noxious vapors that hover above its
domes and spires, obscuring the splendor
Of the meridian sun. There the poet leans
over the easement of his solitary chamber,
as he bares his pale forehead in the shades
of evening, when the tired wind comes in
from the great deep and fingers as it passes
along the hot walls of the " thronged and
busy mart," ere it roams beside the wind
ing river up to the solitudes Of the green
orest,-and INDUCES in his fanciful and
lonely musings, or pours forth his willing
tribute to Eolian diety, in-numbcrs like TO
these g.
Esprit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That coost the twilight ofthe sHltry day,
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow
Thou hast been out upon the deep to play,
niutUg aIt Gay the WtOe blue waves I'LL now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their
sprey,
And swelling the white sail. welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer Of the sea
" Nor / aone--a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the lullness Of delight;
And Ianguid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Lveler, at coming Of the wind Of night;
And languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight:
Go forth into the gathering shade-go forth.
Gods blessing breathed upon the fainting earth:
4" Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest
Curl the still waters bright with stars, and rouse
| The wide old wood from his majestic rest
Summoning from the innumerable boughs,
The strange deep harmonies that haunt sbreast,
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
| The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
| 'Twxt the o'ershading branches and the grass.
| "The faint old man shall lean his silver head
Tofeelthee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
| And dry the mostened caris that overspread
His temples, willie his breathing grows more deep;
| And they who stand about the sick mans bed,
Shall joy to listen TO thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains TO allow
Thy visit. grateful to his burning brow"