THE VOICE OF THE WIND.
“Whence comest thou, wind, in thy rapid flight,
Or the balmy play of the zephyrs light?
Hast thou breathed o’er the freshness of myrtle bowers,
And laden thy wings from the orange flowers?
Or pierced the darkness of distant caves,
Whose depths resound with the ocean’s waves?
Yet bring me no shadows of grief or woe,
’Tis only earth’s beauties I fain would know.”