Volume I Part 96 (1/2)

I remember the sea-fight far away, How it thundered o'er the tide!

And the dead captains, as they lay In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died.

And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: ”A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's Woods; And the friends.h.i.+ps old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods.

And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: ”A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain.

And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: ”A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song Come over me like a chill: ”A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts”

Strange to me are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town; But the native air is pure and sweet, And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: ”A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were I find my lost youth again.

And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still: ”A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]

”VOICE OF THE WESTERN WIND”

Voice of the western wind!

Thou singest from afar, Rich with the music of a land Where all my memories are; But in thy song I only hear The echo of a tone That fell divinely on my ear In days forever flown.

Star of the western sky!

Thou beamest from afar, With l.u.s.tre caught from eyes I knew Whose orbs were each a star; But, oh, those orbs--too wildly bright-- No more eclipse thine own, And never shall I find the light Of days forever flown!

Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908]

LANGSYNE, WHEN LIFE WAS BONNIE”

Langsyne, when life was bonnie, An' a' the skies were blue, When ilka thocht took blossom, An' hung its heid wi' dew, When winter wasna winter, Though snaws cam' happin' doon, Langsyne, when life was bonnie, Spring gaed a twalmonth roun'.

Langsyne, when life was bonnie, An' a' the days were lang; When through them ran the music That comes to us in sang, We never wearied liltin'

The auld love-laden tune; Langsyne, when life was bonnie, Love gaed a twalmonth roun'.

Langsyne, when life was bonnie, An' a' the warld was fair, The leaves were green wi' simmer, For autumn wasna there.