And the spirit is thy harp, O Wind! that gives the answering tone.
Thou hast been across red fields of war, where shiver’d helmets lie,
And thou bringest thence the thrilling note of a clarion in the sky;
A rustling of proud banner-folds, a peal of stormy drums,—
All these are in thy music met, as when a leader comes.
Thou hast been o’er solitary seas, and from their wastes brought back
Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of thy track—
The chime of low, soft, southern waves on some green palmy shore,
The hollow roll of distant surge, the gather’d billows’ roar.
Thou art come from forests dark and deep, thou mighty rushing Wind!