Chapter I

Over hill and over valley--
Over meadows rich and green,
Playing with the summer grasses--
Fairer sights were never seen.

Not a mortal ever saw me,
Though I see THEM ev’ry day;
Passing like a viewless spirit
On my happy singing way.

Often do I rise up skyward,
Chasing fast the cloudlets there,
And I drive them headlong onward
Till they all in fragments tear.

Often on the field of battle,
’Mid the storm that works them woe,
Do I cheer ’mid cannon’s rattle,
Kissing both the friend and foe.

And the wounded, as he listens
To me as I whistle on,
Thinks of home and friends and parents
And of days that now have gone.

I often whistle through the woods
And toss the hunter’s hair.
He sits him down upon a log,
While I caress him there.

His brow with sweat is covered o’er--
He feels my cooling sway,
I toss about his silver locks;
That deck his head of gray.

But on I go until I find
The farmer in his field;
I whistle o’er his garnered store
The willing land doth yield.

He hails me as his merry friend,
And thus I am to him;
I never pass without I cheer
His features calm and grim.

I cheer the poet as he sings
Beside some flowing stream,
And looks upon the dim, dim past,
A vision or a dream.

II.

He hails me, as I sail along,
In accents clear and free.
I answer in an unknown tongue
And pass on cheerily.

He knows me well, and loves me too--
He watches till I find
His resting place where he may leave
All earthly cares behind.

I visit oft where lovers sit,
I hear their vows of love;
The bright green grass is all below--
The sky of blue above.

And there they sit and talk of love--
As only lovers know;--
They think the world a paradise
And all things bright below.

III.

I visit oft the city’s haunts,--
I raise the dust on high,
And whirl it like a water-wheel,
As ever on I fly.

I play with wigs and hats and cloaks,
And whistle by the house--
Then to a gentle zephyr turn,--
As quiet as a mouse.

Then breaking in an angry fit,
I whistle by the bell
That hangs within the steeple tall--
And sound a faint, low knell.

By ruins old I make my way--
I tear the ivy vines,
And fill with dust and sand and dirt
The ancient sculptured lines.

IV.

I ramble on the deep, dark sea,
And toss those waves of blue;
I scare the boasting mariner
And tear the sails in two.

The clouds that hang far overhead
Are dropping to the sea,
The waves as mountains now become--
I roar out in my glee.

The captain stands with face aghast--
With terror in his eyes--
The fork-ed lightning strikes its wings
That waft it from the skies.

The thunder stops, the clouds pass by,
The waves are resting now;
The gallant ship before my breath
With magic speed doth plow.

V.

Ye frightened goodly mariners,
That angels were before--
The storm has quit, you curse again,
You’re sinners wild once more.

And when the next storm rocks the ship,
And the thunders roll and roar,
You drop upon your knees again--
Art sainted then once more.

I cross the sea, and soon I find
Europa’s golden coast--
The Spanish pride;--the English tar
Makes well his frequent boast.

VI.

I love the clime of Africa--
The dark man’s native home;
I love that central, torrid zone
Wherever I may roam.

I also love the Northern pole--
Auroras glisten there--
I love the regions still and cold,
The icebergs standing bare.

The water trickling down their sides--
I waft them towards the south;
The walrus suns him as we go,
And opes his giant mouth.

I love to sway the trees in spring
When all in green they stand,--
In winter do I move their boughs
While roaming o’er the land.

Sometimes I frolic round about
Between the earth and sky;
And it is true where’er I go
A jolly one am I.

I love to whirl the storm around
And roar out ev’rywhere,
And superstitious people, too,
I often sadly scare.

I’ve seen fair Eden’s leafy trees--
I’ve seen the first of man,
And I shall see the last of him--
I saw how he began.