KINGSLEY
Welcome, wild North-Easter!Shame it is to seeOdes to every zephyr;Ne’er a verse to thee.Welcome, black North-Easter!O’er the German foam;O’er the Danish moorlands,From thy frozen home.Tired we are of summer,Tired of gaudy glare,Showers soft and steaming,Hot and breathless air.Tired of listless dreaming,Through the lazy day:Jovial wind of winter,Turn us out to play!Sweep the golden reed-beds;Crisp the lazy dyke;Hunger into madnessEvery plunging pike.Fill the lake with wild-fowl;Fill the marsh with snipe;While on dreary moorlandsLonely curlew pipe.Through the black fir-forestThunder harsh and dry,Shattering down the snow-flakesOff the curdled sky.Hark! the brave North-Easter!Breast-high lies the scent,On by holt and headland,Over heath and bent!Chime, ye dappled darlings,Through the sleet and snow.Who can override you?Let the horses go!Chime, ye dappled darlings,Down the roaring blast;You shall see a fox dieEre an hour be past.Go! and rest to-morrow,Hunting in your dreams,While our skates are ringingO’er the frozen streams.Let the luscious South-windBreathe in lovers’ sighs,While the lazy gallantsBask in ladies’ eyes.What does he but softenHeart alike and pen?’Tis the hard grey weatherBreeds hard Englishmen.What’s the soft South-Wester?’Tis the ladies’ breeze,Bringing home their true lovesOut of all the seas:But the black North-Easter,Through the snow-storms hurled,Drives our English hearts of oakSeaward round the world.Come, as came our fathers,Heralded by thee,Conquering from the eastward,Lords by land and sea.Come; and strong within usStir the Vikings’ blood;Bracing brain and sinew;Blow, thou wind of God!Charles Kingsley.
Welcome, wild North-Easter!Shame it is to seeOdes to every zephyr;Ne’er a verse to thee.Welcome, black North-Easter!O’er the German foam;O’er the Danish moorlands,From thy frozen home.Tired we are of summer,Tired of gaudy glare,Showers soft and steaming,Hot and breathless air.Tired of listless dreaming,Through the lazy day:Jovial wind of winter,Turn us out to play!Sweep the golden reed-beds;Crisp the lazy dyke;Hunger into madnessEvery plunging pike.Fill the lake with wild-fowl;Fill the marsh with snipe;While on dreary moorlandsLonely curlew pipe.Through the black fir-forestThunder harsh and dry,Shattering down the snow-flakesOff the curdled sky.Hark! the brave North-Easter!Breast-high lies the scent,On by holt and headland,Over heath and bent!Chime, ye dappled darlings,Through the sleet and snow.Who can override you?Let the horses go!Chime, ye dappled darlings,Down the roaring blast;You shall see a fox dieEre an hour be past.Go! and rest to-morrow,Hunting in your dreams,While our skates are ringingO’er the frozen streams.Let the luscious South-windBreathe in lovers’ sighs,While the lazy gallantsBask in ladies’ eyes.What does he but softenHeart alike and pen?’Tis the hard grey weatherBreeds hard Englishmen.What’s the soft South-Wester?’Tis the ladies’ breeze,Bringing home their true lovesOut of all the seas:But the black North-Easter,Through the snow-storms hurled,Drives our English hearts of oakSeaward round the world.Come, as came our fathers,Heralded by thee,Conquering from the eastward,Lords by land and sea.Come; and strong within usStir the Vikings’ blood;Bracing brain and sinew;Blow, thou wind of God!Charles Kingsley.
Welcome, wild North-Easter!Shame it is to seeOdes to every zephyr;Ne’er a verse to thee.Welcome, black North-Easter!O’er the German foam;O’er the Danish moorlands,From thy frozen home.Tired we are of summer,Tired of gaudy glare,Showers soft and steaming,Hot and breathless air.Tired of listless dreaming,Through the lazy day:Jovial wind of winter,Turn us out to play!Sweep the golden reed-beds;Crisp the lazy dyke;Hunger into madnessEvery plunging pike.Fill the lake with wild-fowl;Fill the marsh with snipe;While on dreary moorlandsLonely curlew pipe.Through the black fir-forestThunder harsh and dry,Shattering down the snow-flakesOff the curdled sky.Hark! the brave North-Easter!Breast-high lies the scent,On by holt and headland,Over heath and bent!Chime, ye dappled darlings,Through the sleet and snow.Who can override you?Let the horses go!Chime, ye dappled darlings,Down the roaring blast;You shall see a fox dieEre an hour be past.Go! and rest to-morrow,Hunting in your dreams,While our skates are ringingO’er the frozen streams.Let the luscious South-windBreathe in lovers’ sighs,While the lazy gallantsBask in ladies’ eyes.What does he but softenHeart alike and pen?’Tis the hard grey weatherBreeds hard Englishmen.What’s the soft South-Wester?’Tis the ladies’ breeze,Bringing home their true lovesOut of all the seas:But the black North-Easter,Through the snow-storms hurled,Drives our English hearts of oakSeaward round the world.Come, as came our fathers,Heralded by thee,Conquering from the eastward,Lords by land and sea.Come; and strong within usStir the Vikings’ blood;Bracing brain and sinew;Blow, thou wind of God!
Charles Kingsley.