The Minnesotian. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn. Territory) 1851-1852, 1852-03-06
POETRY.
From the National Intellgencer
SONG OF THE NORTH WIND.
BY S. d. c., OF BOSTON.

III D. ID. u, OF BOSTON,
come from the fields Of the frozen North,
Der the waste Of the trackless sea,
Where the winter sun looks YEARLY forth,
And yieldcth his strength to me;
As mount o'er the hills and gather my might,
With the roar Of the Hurricane;
Loud sweeping in wrath by day and night,
Over the ice-tound main.
From the awful Steppes Of the scythian wild,
Where the Boreal lightnings play,
Oer the frownng peaks Of glaciers piled,
wend my stormy way;
Where the lightest touch OF my blasting breath
Plays over the withered branch,
Ana The eagle screams from his eyry Of death,
In the fearful Avalanche.
On the lofty heights OF the Daurian chain,
sit on my regal throne,
Where my snowy turrets look out o'er the main
On the waste OF the Arctic zone;
Alone-aione, in my might dwell,
Where a human foot ne'er trod,
Where human voice meier broke the spell
Lying bound DER the Icy sod.
breathe In my wrath DER the flaming forge,
Where the laborng Cyclops dwclt,
Till the lava rolls Ger the mountain gorge,
And forge and furnace melt;
TIL the fiery arm of Vulcan yields
To the might OF my threatening roar,
And the red flames flow Ger the blooming fields,
And the light Of the sanded shore.
Away through the hollow caves sweep,
Where the giant arm of Thor
Shakes his cleaning spear DER the raging deep,
And marshals his s;eeds TO wa:
Then blow my horn Is the thunder rolls
Through the depths vi the lurld sky,
AMI the wild waves foam, ami the sea-bell tolls
To my voice as It passes BY.
In the lonely halls where Oiln dwells,
In his palace of kingly might,
am free from the chain of his Runc spells,
And revel by day and night;
l sit at the board where Heroes fell,
Where their blood flowed like the wave,
And the white spears clashed with the wild yell
Meath the snowy archtraye!
Then away bound from the Halls Of Death,
Where the bDuntiful Lena flows,
Aud wave the wand of my jagged breath,
Ger Its banks of crested SHOWS,
And 10! the pillar tall and fair,
With many quaint device,
Springs mp in the grace OF its beauty rare
column OF fretted ice!
Oh, the earth Is calm in its silent rest,
When toe South wind, soft AMI free,
Floats up like coud from the vineyards best
or the glowing Araby;
From the land where The myrtle and cypress wave
In The br .aih Of the perfumed shore:
And the da!lying breeze, where their waters lave,
Keeps time to the golden oa-.
The earth is fair where the West wind blows,
When the wearled bin DIS mute;
And ii signs through the trees at evenings close,
To the tone of a minstrel's lutte;
When the rays of the sun from his purple dome,
Der the sunny south shed;
And the peasant brings to his cottage homo
The vintage, ripe and red.
But the Garth is dark where my foot has trod,
Irvine no howery wreath;
In the track of my path lies a blasted sod,
And the waste Of a barren heath;
Oer the yellow harvest of waving grain
In my giant strength I ride,
And blackened and sere it lies dead on the plain,
In the wealth OF its golden pride.
The mariner sings, for his heart is light,
When the South wind fills his sail.
And the good ship flies DER the waters bright,
To the breath of the favorite gale.
But his song shall be Of a weltering surge,
OF waves dashed mountain high,
When chant Ger the ship its deathly dirge
To a moonless and sky:
When the rafting hail DER the.icy shroud,
And the wreck of a drifting mast,
Is poured Ger the deep from the angry cloud,
In the torrents thick and fast;
When the airSp is shrek through the bowling storm,
And the water-fends below
Bear away to their home the mariners form,
Through the blackened waters flow.
Then, crowned with the shadowy laurels, / nee
To my home on the snow-ridged peak,
AS the eagle returns to his rock DER the sea,
With the prey in his blood-crestcd beak;
The requiem bell from the coast is rung,
As sweep DER the oceans bed,
And hear the low chant by the chor!steTs sung
For the rest of the saintcd dead.
And l come not again til my banners fade,
And my starry spears grow dim
Till the harvest is from the sunny glade,
Where foated the reaper's hymn
I'll the winter sun looks YEARLY forth,
And y!edeth his strength to me
Then sweep again from the frozen North,
Oer the waste of the trackeSs sea.
BOSTON, November, 1851,