Lynchburg Virginian. [volume] (Lynchburg [Va.]) 1829-185?, 1851-12-22
POETRY.
From the National intelligencer.
Song OF the North Wind.
BY &. G. D.. or BosroS.


From the National InteIlieencer.
Song OF the North Wtmd.
Br s. c. D.. or Bosros
/.
come from tho icli- of,hc frozen sorl
Over the waste Of the trarkle"sea.
! Where the winter sun looks wcsrily forth,
And ylsisicil hrs strrpsthfc me;
A. mount DER thc hills and gather my might,
With the rear OF the Hurricane;
Loud sweeping in wrath by day and nigh,
Over the icc-bound main.
II
From the awful B,crrs. of the sey,lian wild,
Where the Borcal lightninss play,
Der the frowning peak. glaciers Piled
wcnd my stormy WY;
Where the lighrst tcreh of my blasting breath
Plays over tho witncrcd branch.
And the eagle scream. from his eyry Of death,
In tho fcnrful Avalanche.
III.
On tho lofty heights Of the Daurian clnin,
sit on my regal throne,
Where my snowy turrets look out DER the mnin
On the waste Of the Arctic zone:
Alonc-alonc, in my nigh; dwell,
Where human foot ncer trod,
Where human voice ne broke the spell
Lying bound o'cr the icy sod.
".
breathe in my wrath Der the flaming forge,
Where tho laboring Cyelops dwelt,
Till the lazy rolls o'cr the mountain gorge,
And forge and furnace melt;
Till the fiery arm of Vulcan yields
To tho might Of my threatening roar,
And the red fame. flow o the blooming fields
And the light of the sandcd shore.
Away through the hollow caves sweep,
Where the giant arm Of Thor
Shakes hi. cleaning spear DER tho rigging deep,
And marshals his stccds to war:
Then blow my horn the thunder rolls
Through the depths of the lurid sky,
And the wild waves foam, and the sca-belltolls
my voice as it passes by.
VI.
In the lonely halls where Odin dwells;
In his pnlacc of hingly might,
an free from the chnin Of his Runic spells,
And rcvcl by day and night;
| lit nj the board where Heroes fell,
Where their blood flowed like the wave.
And the white spears cla,hcd with the wild yell
NJ - rowy urchiiravc!
VII.
und from the Halls of Death,
.cbcautiful Lena flows.
And WI, the wand of my jagged breath,
Der its bank. of crested SHOWS,
And 10 the pillar tall and fair,
With many n quaint device,
Springs up in the grace Of its beauty rare
column Of ircttod ice
VIII.
NJ the earth is calm in its silent rest,
When the South Wind soft and free.
l,a,s up like a cloud from the vineyards blest
Ofthc glowing Araby;
I'm the lane where tho myrtle and cypress wave
In tho breath of the pcr,umed shore:
ia tho dailyns breeze, where their waters lave,
Keeps time tho golden oar.
TX.
The earth /. fair where the Westwind blows,
When the wearied birds mute
And il .iA b. through the at evenings close,
To the tone Of n niinstrel's Lutte;
When the rays of the sun from his purple dome,
Der the sunny South are shed,
And the peasant brings to his cottage home
Tho vintage ripe and rcd
But the earth j, dark where my foot has trod,
l Irvine no nowcry wreath
In the track Of my path lies blasted sod.
And the waste If barren heath;
Der the yellow harvest of waving grain
III my giant strength ride,
And blaekencd and .crc it lies dead on the plain.
In the wealth. ofiis golden pride.
XI.
The mariners sings, for his heart /, light,
Wien the South wind fills his sail,
And the good ship flics DER the waters bright,
To the breath of the favoring gale.
But his song shnll be of n weltcring surge,
OF wives dashed mountain high,
When chant Ger the ship its deathly d'rge
To moonlcss sea aud sky:
When the ra,,ling hail DER the icy .hroud,
And the wreck of a drifting mast,
Il povrcd Scr the deep from the angry cloud
In the torrsnt. thick and fast;
When the air-.piris shrek through the howlin,
And the watcr-hcnds below
Beer away to their homo tho mariners form.
Through the blackcnrI waters flow.
XIII.
Thcn crowned with nv ,hadowy laurcls, | fec.
To my home the -ridscd peak
As the eagle returns to his rock DER the sea.
With the prey in his blood-crcsted bcak:
The requiem bell from the coast is runs
"A. swccpo'er the oceans bed
And hear the low chat by the choris,ers sung
For the rest Of the saintcd dead.
XIV.
al leome not again till my banners fade
\rd my starry spears grow dim
lid the harvest is gone from the sunny glade,
Where tloarcd the rearers hymn-
Til the winter sun locks wcarily forth,
Ard yicldc,h his strength to me-
Then sweep again from the frozen North,
Der lhc waste Of the traeklcss see.
Ro<rpN. NOVEMBER. 1871