Poems (Campbell)/Address to the Winds

by Dorothea Primrose Campbell

ADDRESS TO THE WINDS.

Softly, ye wildly-wand'ring gales!
 Spare in your rage the leafless tree;
Breathe not your fury o'er the vales,
 Nor heave the billows of the sea.

All nature mourns your tyrant reign;
 Stripp'd are the honours of the grove;
And tempests through the aerial plain,
 Borne on your viewless pinions rove.

Restrain, oh, winds! your blust'ring force;
 Ye tempests stop your mad career,
Nor strew each gallant sailor's corse
 Untimely on a wat'ry bier.

Spare, oh, ye winds! the widow's moan,
 Nor wake the tear in beauty's eye;
But waft our warriors safely home,
 In love and friendship's arms to die.

For, toss'd upon the welt'ring wave,
 Far from each friend, and far from home,
No stone can mark the hero's grave,
 No tear bedew the lover's tomb.

Yet, gallant spirits! shall each name
 Be dear to ev'ry British heart;
E'en when we triumph in your fame,
 The sigh shall rise—the tear shall start.

Illustrious, to the end of time,
 Each dauntless hero's name shall be,
Who fell in manhood's hardy prime—
 Who fought—who bled—for liberty!

Speed on, oh time! the happy day
 That lays at last oppression low;
Then peace her olive shall display,
 And patriot-blood no more shall flow.

How sweet—how soothing is the thought!
 When battle's stormy rage is o'er,
That peace again, though dearly bought,
 Shall smile upon our native shore.

Then cheerful o'er our cliffs we'll rove,
 And watch the peaceful bark glide by,
And safely through her orange grove
 Again th' Iberian fair shall hie.

Exulting shouts the heav'ns shall rend,
 When war's detested flag is furl'd;
And trade shall flourish—wealth extend,
 And commerce navigate the world.