HE BOOK THE SINGING WINDS SARA HAMILTON BIRCHALL THE BOOK OF THE SINGING WINDS J AVENDER for old loves, J -^ Roses for the new, Heliotrope for pleasure, lass, And for sorrow, rue. Rosemary lest you forget. — Take, or let it be. I will have the wholesome pine And the open sea. The Book of The Singing Winds Sara Hamilton Birchall AK 1 90S Alfred Bartlett Boston Copyright, 1905 By Sara Hamilton Birchall LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Cooies Received JAN 20 » 906 Copyright Entry lew. 3<7 /?<^ //CLASS O- XXc. No. / 3 4 6 XiT COPY B. To F. C. /^OLDEN-ROD, sassafras, ^* Sweet/ As you pass Wait a moment. There 1 s something For you. Purple asters , scarlet leaves, Feathered grass and tiny sheaves Of the golden wheat. And sweet Little orchids that nestle In dew. A chiW s harvest of a day Withers, and is thrown away; Yet, because I sought an hour For each flower, and because Having found, I bring, Listen, with indulgent smile, While I sing. Take the gift, Sweet, — golden, blue, Not for its own sake, but only Since it is for you. THE CONTENTS PAGE 17 THE GATE OF THE SINGING WINDS 19 SONG OF THE f OPEN 21 A LA BELLE ETOILE 23 THE QUESTION 24 THE LOST FRIEND, I 26 THE LOST FRIEND, II 28 THE SOJOURNER 30 FEBRUARY THAW 31 SPRING SONG 33 THE INTIMATE MOOD OF THE WOODS 35 ALL THE WAY TO FAIRY-LAND 37 KARZA 38 HEIGHO.THE WIND AND THE WEATHER! 39 GALLOPING SONG 40 THE LITTLE SHIPS OF THE HARBOUR 43 THE SIGNAL 44 THE DAY WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE THE BOOK OF THE SINGING WINDS The Gate of the Singing Winds /^H, it's far by the road of the curving ^-^ downs A-scent with the fresh-ploughed loam, There lies the Gate of the Singing Winds Where April gets her home. And it's merry, oh merry the trooping Winds That sing on the winding road, And light of heart are the early Winds That dance with their flower-bud load. It's near, so near to the shingled roofs, And the cow that lows in her stall, But never a lover of fire-lit rooms May measure or find at all. 17 THE BOOK OF The baby comes back from his meadow- play With a smile on his dimpled mouth, When he tries to tell of his day-long play With the Singing Winds of the South. The boy goes out in the dewy dawn Where the early violets hide, And he comes with a strange, shy look on his face, But he tells not where they bide. The seal of their kiss is yet cool on his lips, And their breath in his mist-wet hair; The Singing Winds of the South are sweet, And follow wherever he fare. But it's merry, oh merry the Singing Winds That dance on their grass-grown way, And light of heart are the early Winds That open the buds of May. 18 THE SINGING WINDS Song of the Open 'T V HERE , S a whisper in the orchard, ■** there's a laughter in the breeze, There's a catbird's chuckle in the maple tree; And the wind has come from westward, scattering the maple-keys. Oh, it's time to break your fetters and be free ! All the rain's astir and calling, all the grass is wet and brown, All the world waits just beyond the window-pane; And the day is dull and dripping in the gray, gas-lighted town, But the country's fresh and clean with fall again. Oh, it's out along the prairie with the cool rain in your face, And it's out along the river flowing free, And it's out across the hill-tops in a flying-footed race With just your heart to bear you company. 19 THE BOOK OF There's the prairie curving softly with its golden blooms aglow, And the purple splashes on its ripened flanks; And the idle grassy hollows where the brilliant salvias grow, And the sturdy cat-tails marshal out their ranks. Ah, the scarlet of the orchards and the saffron of the fields! Ah, the purple of the vineyards in the sun! Ah, the river in the sunlight, flashing silver as a shield For a moment — and your Indian summer's done. So it's home along the prairie with the north wind blowing chill, And it 's home across the meadow 's heaving sea, And it's home with winter shouting just beyond the farthest hill, But yet the road is open and is free. 20 THE SINGING WINDS A la Belle Etoile /~\H, who will lodge at my Inn tonight, ^^ And live both fair and fine, With a blossoming blackberry vine for a gate, And a friendly star for a sign? Good sir, my Inn is a gentle Inn, The wine is sweet and old; 'Tis Adam's, sir, with a fine bouquet, And the colour of liquid gold. The carriages roll on the rocky road To a musty house afar; But the gentlefolk stop by the blackberry gate At the Inn of the Beautiful Star. Sweet fern, sweet fern for your pillow, sir, And a quick-eared faun for your mate, And a firefly's light for your candle bright — Good sooth, we sleep in state. 21 THE BOOK OF The winds go murmuring by at dusk And call you up at dawn, To walk through the fairies' handkerchiefs And startle a sleeping fawn. When day is red on the river's bed, And bright on quartz and spar, We'll say our short St. Martin's grace At the Inn of the Eeautiful Star. The blackberry vine is a maiden now, With her pale stars in the dew; Come back next month, good sir, there'll be Sweet blackberries for you. We'll wish you luck from the blackberry gate. Although you wander far 'Tis here that you'll come home at last, — To our Inn of the Beautiful Star. THE SINGING WINDS The Question TJE went up the hill in the * -■• twilight; (Was it my love, or another?) Up on the wind-bitten prairie, Up, in the blinding snow-smother. My hands will not warm at the fire; (Was it my love, or a strangerl) I let him pass, all alone, Into the night and the danger. 23 THE BOOK OF The Lost Friend I TTEIGHO the friend I used to know! Heigho the friend I know no more! By windy hill and dale I fare, Nor ever find his open door. He sits alone beneath the grass And keeps his smouldering evening fire, Nor leaves his latch-string out for me As I trudge on through dark and mire. Yet once we kept good jollity, And careless said, "Auf wiedersehen, ,, As I went gaily over sea, — Ah, sad it is I come again! Heigho the friend I used to know! I seek him whom I once called mine; Somewhere I think he waits for me, And we shall talk above the wine. 24 THE SINGING WINDS Some moonless night, and I shall go From his kind hearth no more to dog The wastrel footsteps of the wind By lonely road and haunted bog. Heigho the friend I used to know! Heigho the friend I soon shall see! For if I wander far enough; I know that he will welcome me. 25 THE BOOK OF The Lost Friend II /^\H where's my friend of yes- ^ terday? And where' s the wind of yester- year? Along the bubbles of the brook I look to find their footsteps here. I listen for his whistled call, I watch to see him down the lane, For now and then I still forget That he returns no more again. He goes to seek another door, I would not let him in at mine; 'Tis long ago I closed my gate And let him go without a sign. Still I remember other days, And would forget the dreary end Of all our pleasant years that left Me sorrowful without my friend. 26 THE SINGING WINDS Ah, well, the trees are older now, Their green is turning into brown; Beside my lattice here I wait, And see the weary years go down And so my friend of yesterday Has met the wind of yester-year, And they have wandered far away, But left me lonely waiting here. 27 THE BOOK OF The Sojourner T will arise and go; the wind is fain 1 of me, The laughing wind that stirs my climbing rose; The tiny clusters nod and talk together, But what their secret may be, no one knows. I will arise and go; the wind is fain of me, The rose is heavy in the southern town, The wild geese travel northward in the mornings, The bold-eyed southern spring tears wide her gown. I will arise and go; the wind is fain of me, The last snow melts beneath the gray stone walls, The green young sedges fringe the river-margin, And in my heart the Northland calls and calls. 28 THE SINGING WINDS I will arise and go; the wind is fain of me. Too long I wait in summer's tasselled hall, Too long I dream amid the tulip blossoms, Too long I linger when I hear the call. I will arise and go to seek the mountains, I will return my playfellows to greet; Once more the open hills and the sweet meadow, Once more the virgin Northland's lips to meet. 29 THE BOOK OF February Thaw ' I A HE road is moist and brown, ■*• the woods Have not awaked from sleep; The first bright robin sings his song, The wholesome west winds sweep. I know, within the house, alone, That February's still A-thinking how he'll make us shrink With next week's winter chill. But yet it seems as if today I might go out and see A maiden spray of arbutus, Or budding maple-tree. 3o THE SINGING WINDS Spring Song ^T*HE trees are black and gnarled and old, "■- Beyond, the sunset flares in gold, Afar, the amber gates unfold, Within, spring laughs on dale and wold, The dryads laugh, the naiad sings, The ancient, whispering forest rings With laughter, and the shy wild things Dance with the magic that it brings. Ho! Who'll across the world with me? I seek, — what seek I? Fantasy! The world is broad, the heath is free, Our hearts are light. Good travellers, we! The spring's awake in Arcady. The may-flower blooms, the mossy mere Is violet-filled. Good cheer! Good cheer! 31 THE BOOK OF O listen to the west wind calling! O listen to the sweet notes falling! O listen to the robin calling to his mate, "Love, I'm awaiting you! Wait! wait! wait! Down in the meadow by the hawthorn tree, O listen! O listen! O listen tome!" 32 THE SINGING WINDS The Intimate Mood of the Woods *T S HE intimate mood of the woods is ■*• not for the one Who comes with the sun and the wind and the rustle of leaves, With careless or curious eyes and feet that slip On the wandering little paths, and tread on the beetle's bronze. The rattle of branches confuse him, the leaves turn white sides to his gaze, And tilt on their stems and mock him; he is no kin to their world. But he who will come to the woods when the fallen leaves are still, And the brooks are trilling-full, and the ferns uncurl in the wet, And the only sound is the leisurely drip of he rain from the trees, His shall be eyes to see the columbine's leaves in the cleft, And the pink-petalled Dutchman's breeches, quaint fool at the court of Spring — 33 THE BOOK OF He shall know where the bloodroot opens> and watch where the fern uncurls; He shall hear the chime of the hermit thrush and fit it to singing words; He shall see the rabbits mating, and catch the faint far trail Of fragrance, the arbutus ' herald, hid under a carpet of leaves; He shall follow the foam-belled brook by meadow and glen and hill, Till he hear the silver thread of a white nymph's song, Where the headwater waits to greet him; and under a granite cliff 'Twixt the wilding grape and the waking bird, he shall find A shuttle of song and a thread of his newborn dreams; And there in the heart of the wood shall he, dreaming, discover his Paradise. 34 THE SINGING WINDS All the Way to Fairy-land A LL the way to Fairy-land, -t-^- Follow, follow me Down the path along the sand, Beside the sounding sea. All the way to Fairy-land, Choose your pebble, choose, Red or white or silver-gray, Bedded in the ooze. Bedded in the rippled sand, Bedded in the weed, All the way to Fairy-land Choose your stone with heed. All the way to Fairy-land 'Neath a single stone; You that are the lucky one, Tread your way alone. 35 THE BOOK OF Say an Ave and make the sign, Lift your pebble free; Take the road to Fairy-land, But say good-bye to me. 36 THE SINGING WINDS Karza TTIGH on the crags of the wild North Sea "■" ■*■ Witch Karza watched the storm. And her yellow hair blowing, And the strong tide flowing, And the fisher-wives praying for calm on the sea. Witch-fire flashes on the crested sea; Witch Karza laughs aloud. And the boats are grounding, And the fishermen drowning, And the fisher-wives praying for the lost at sea. Far up above the calm North Sea, Witch Karza calls them in; And the dead men hollo, And the krakens follow, And the priest is praying for the souls lost at sea. 37 THE BOOK OF 1 Heigho, the Wind and the Weather! TTEIGHO, the wind and weather! A ■*■ Heigho, the fragant heather! Blue o' sky and blue o' sea, Heigho, but it's lonely weather! Heigho, the wind and the weather! Heigho, the rosy heather! There's a lass that waits for me. Heigho, lass, it's golden weather! 38 THE SINGING WINDS Galloping Song /^ ALLOP and sing, gallop and sing! ^-* With the open road before, And my good horse laying his hoofs to the ground As I ride by the shouting shore. Gallop and sing, gallop and sing! With a windy, cloud-swept sky, And the thundering break of the wind- roused lake In my ears as I hurry by. Gallop and sing, gallop and sing! It 's far that I must go, For my sweetheart lives in a lone cabane At the edge of the Northern snow. Gallop and sing, gallop and sing! We'll kiss in the freezing rain, Then swing to the saddle and touch the spur, And home by the lake again. 39 THE BOOK OF The Little Ships of the Harbour *TpHE little ships of the harbour •** Who so proper as they? They lightly dip to the racing rip That drives with the break of day. " Courtesy, cousin, the waves come in; Dip to the crested white, Dip to the lazy curling swell, Dip to the bubbles bright." The little ships of the harbour, Little coquettes are they; They courtesy deep to the blustering sweep And bob to the ripples gay. "Courtesy, cousin, the sun is bright Under your heaving keel; The gray gulls fly in a yeasty sky, Courtesy as they wheel.' ' 40 THE SINGING WINDS The little ships of the harbour, Lightly they clear the bar; With a freshening gale and a singing sail They travel fast and far. "Courtesy, cousin, the spray is white, Feathering off your bow; The white-caps break on the dimpling lake Like little flakes of snow." The little ships of the harbour Frightened and frail are they; It 's driving gale and a close-reefed sail, And back at the close of day. "Sister, where is the harbour-mouth? Sister, I call— I call! The waves I knew were soft and blue, They were not these at all! ,, 41 THE BOOK OF The little ships of the harbour Dip to the waves no more; The swells slip by where they used to lie, And break on the sunlit shore. ' 'Sister, sister!" they call afar, " Sister!" under the sea, "Hearest thou?" and the ripples run And carry the cry to me. 42 THE SINGING WINDS The Signal A little, lonely, wistful chap ^ ^ Looks out at dusk for me ; The lamplight shines behind his head, I see him wave to me He smiles when I wave back to him, Through evening mist and rain; I'm glad the boy I used to be Remembers me again\ 43 THE BOOK OF The Day When My Dreams Come True ' I A HE tall ships lie at anchor, A The white ships go abroad, Their candles burn by the holy urn For the mercy of the Lord. The ships come in from the roaring seas, The ships come in from the blue, With silk and silver and gold and wines, And wealth of king and Jew. The anchor falls beside the wharf, The owner stands at ease, And smiles to see his goods come in That came from overseas. 'Tis not my ship. Let the boatswain call And the sailors haul with a will; I whistle between my teeth on the wharf And scan the low sea-hill. 44 THE SINGING WINDS I watch the white of each rising sail, Above the creaming blue, And think perhaps it has come at last, The day when my dreams come true, — When my ship lifts over the harbour-bar, My ship that I always knew, With her barefoot sailors singing loud, The day that my dreams come true. I know each knot of her cordage brown, Each curve of her graceful keel; I know her blazoned golden name, And the motto carved by her wheel. All day I lean on the rotting wharf, And watch the ships come in; They are not mine, I know, but yet, Some day my dream will win. 45 THE BOOK OF Ah, sweet it is when the silver sails Heave up on the singing blue, For then I dream that my day has come, When my dearest dreams come true. 4 6 JDOSEMART lest you forget.- **■ When I come again Up the old familiar path In the autumn rain, What if you've forgotten, lassl Say, what shall I do? — Here is heartsease by the gate With the bitter rue. THIS FIRST EDITION IS PRINTED FOR ALFRED BARTLETT, AT THE PRAIRIE PRESS IN CHICAGO, U. S. A., NOVEMBER. 1905. JAN 20 1906