42 WILD WINDS WHISTLE. WILD WINDS WHISTLE. I. SIR ULRIC a Southern dame has wed; Her hair is darker than thick of night; Wild winds whistle and snow is come; Her hands are fair, and her step is light. Hither and thither the birds fly home. From out his castel in the North Three things he left her for good or ill, - With carol sweeter than silver bell, A lithe little page to gather flowers; 2. Lady Margaret watched Sir Ulric speed From morning till night, the first day long, She sat and listened the bonny bird's song. WILD WINDS WHISTLE. The second day long, with fingers fair, The third day's sun rose up on high; She loathed the bird and the page's face, 3. The strange knight drew his bridle-rein; 45 He looked at the sky and he looked at the plain. "O lady!" he said, ""Twas a sin and shame To leave for the chase so fair a dame. "O lady!" he said, "we two will flee To the blithesome land of Italie; "There the orange grows, and the fruitful vine, And a bower of myrtle shall be thine." He has taken her hand and kissed her mouth: He has kissed her mouth and clasped her waist: Now, good gray steed, make haste, make haste! 4. Sir Ulric back from the chase has come, 46 WINTER MOONLIGHT. Or ever he drew his bridle-rein, The bonny blithe bird was stark and dead, The lithe little page hung down his head; EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. WINTER MOONLIGHT. LOUD-VOICED night, with the wild wind blowing Stormy night, with white rain-clouds going Mystic night, that each minute changes, Now as black as a heart where strange is Wondrous moonlight, unlike all moonlights That on a hundred, bright as noonlights, Looks in slow scorn, · Moonlights where the old vine-leaves quiver, PROUD WINTER COMES. Where old paths lie ; Moonlights, Night, blot their like forever Hail, new moonlight, fierce, wild, and stormy, Hail, sharp wind, that can strengthen, warm me, Not chance-driven this deluge rages, Drifting, Noah-like, into the ages I shall touch land. 47 MRS. DINAH MARIA [MULOCK] CRAIK. PROUD WINTER COMETH. PROUD Winter cometh like a warrior bold! His shield the night, starred bright with glittering gold, His mail the silver frost-work, dazzling, bright! He turns his stern face to the north, and waits To hear his wind-steeds burst from heaven's gates. He bringeth at his side the darkening storm, He sifts white beauty down to deck the plain. The bleak, dark forest shivers to keep warm, The brooks are bound with links of crystal chain, 48 WELCOME TO WINTER. The sheep bleat sadly by the pasture bars; Yet many another mien, proud king of snow, With light as fair as floods the sunset halls! ERNEST WARBURTON SHURTLEFF. WELCOME TO WINTER. Hark! his trumpet summons rings, Till the forces of our blood Rise to lusty hardihood, And our summer's languid dreams Melt, like foam-wreaths, down the streams, When the fierce northeasters roll, Raving from the frozen pole. Nobler hopes and keener life, Quicken in his breath of strife; On he stalks with armèd feet, |