I love to hear the high winds pipe aloud,
When ’gainst the leafy nations up in arms;
Now screaming in their rage, now shouting, proud—
Then moaning, as in pain at war’s alarms:
Then softly sobbing to unquiet rest,
Then wildly, harshly, breaking forth again
As if in scorn at having been represt,
With marching sweep careering o’er the plain
And, oh! I love to hear the gusty shower
Against my humble casement, pattering fast,
While shakes the portal of my quiet bower;
For then I envy not the noble’s tower,
Nor, while my cot thus braves the storm and blast,
Wish I the tumult of the heavens past.
Yet wherefore joy I in the loud uproar
Does still life cloy? has peace no charms for me?
Pleases calm nook and ancient home no more,
But do I long for wild variety?
Ah! no;—the noise of elements at jar,
That bids the slumbers of the worldling close,
Lone nature’s child does not thy visions mar,
It does but soothe thee to more sure repose!
I sigh not for variety nor power,
My cot, like castled hall, can brave the storm;
Therefore I joy to list the sweepy shower,
And piping winds, at home, secure and warm:
While soft to heaven my orisons are sent,
In grateful thanks for its best boon, Content!

W. T. M.[521]


The Season.

The gloominess of the weather, and its frequently fatal influence on the mind, suggest the expediency of inserting the following:—

Dissuasions from Despondency.

These “Dissuasions” are ascribed to the pen of a popular and amiable poet.


NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.