The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1888-01-19
The Fickle Winds +!
A miner calmly stood before

A miner calmly stood before
The shadows of his cabin door,
And watched the evening sun go down
Amid the hilltops dull and brown;
The wind, soft-whistlng down the vale
The measures of some mystic tale,
Awoke that presence, bold and strong,
To catch the burden of its song.
He heard amid its rushing noise.
The story of forgotten joys,
AS, sounded through its gusty strain,
The music of his youth again;
Each eddying whirl, each sudden blast,
Was filled with stories of the past
song of rugged hills and wales
He treasured from his native Wales.
Wilder and louder still the strain
Went rushing by the chatt'ring pane,
Till every whisper, weak or strong
Seemed merging in merry song:
"Oh, sweet is the spirit that dwells in the noun
tains,
That sings in the clear-gushing riIis;
That merrily CLEANS from the bright crystal
fountains,
That flow from our dear native hills.
Sweet is the thought that dwells in the mead
ows,
That sings at the old cottage door;
That whispers of love through the still evening
shadows
4uet lall OH tIlttP t-ulStstuG SuOTo
"Brave is the spirit whose lofty devotion
But scorns at the weakness of men;
That over the storms of the bilIowy ocean,
Will fly to its first love again.
''Grand is the spirit whose chivalric story
Is wrought in the measures of song
That spurns the weak show of earth's transient
glory
To strike at the power of wrong"
The winds went sweeping down the hill
With weird, fantastic music still;
Through the dead boughs their music sprang,
About the door their cadence rang,
yet varied was the sound they wrought,
AS changefu1 as the power of thought;
Now in beliowings loud and hoarse,
A tumult ofsgigantic force,
Now in soft and gentle swell,
AS when love works some magic spell:
''Oh, let the merry harp ring out
Among the native hills,
Till riot glee or happy shout
The joyful moment flls.
awake the dear old mountain home
With chorus wild and free,
My Jenny o'er the ocean foam
Is coming back to me.
''How sweetly, in the long ago,
Those eyes looked into mine;
I read, within their manly glow,
A tale of love divine.
''The busy wor Id looked doubly bright,
Sweet music filled the sky,
This simple heart thrilled with delight,
To know that thou vert nigh,
'Deep sorrow fell within the vale,
And gloomy dawned the day.
AS broadly spread the cruel sail
That bore my love away.
''Now, throbbing heart, no more complain
But sound the chorus free,
Across the ocean foam again
He's coming back to me.'
The winds with lighter force once more
Went signing past the cabin door;
The miner turned, with aching brow,
Where were those joyful pictures now?
He looked to see the dear old cot,
The grimy cabin filled the spot;
In place of sweet-vibrating harp,
Rang merry laughter, loud and sharp,
And all those coarser sounds that stamp
The chaos of the mining camp;
That beauteous sound hsd ceased to play.
That happy dream was far away;
Twas only longing mem'ry's thrills
That bore him to his native hills.
The winds went singing, bold and free,
OF better things that might not be,
Then bore, in one terrific swell,
The startling cry: Farewell! Farewell =.