THE WIND IN A FROLIC.

THE wind one morning sprung up from sleep, Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap! Now for a mad-cap galloping chase!

I'll make a commotion in every place!"

So it swept with a bustle right through a great town,

Creaking the signs, and scattering down
Shutters; and whisking, with merciless squalls,
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls:
There never was heard a much lustier shout,
As the apples and oranges trundled about;
And the urchins that stand with their thievish

eyes

For ever on watch, ran off each with a prize. Then away to the field, it went blust'ring and humming,

And the cattle all wonder'd whatever was com

ing;

It pluck'd by their tails the grave, matronly cows, And toss'd the colts manes all about their brows, Till offended at such a familiar salute,

They all turn'd their backs, and stood sullenly

mute.

So on it went, capering and playing its pranks, Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks, Peuffing the birds as they sat on the spray, Or the traveller grave on the king's highway. It was not too nice to bustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags:

'Twas so bold, that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig or the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roar'd, and cried gaily,

You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!"
And it made them bow without more ado,

And crack'd their great branches through and through.

Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm, Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm;

And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm: There were dames with their 'kerchiefs tied over

their caps,

To see if their poultry were free from mishaps: The turkeys they gobbled, the geese scream'd aloud,

And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd: There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.

But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane, With a schoolboy who panted and struggled in vain;

For it toss'd him and twirl'd him, then pass'd, and he stood

With his hat in a pool and his shoe in the mud.

There was a poor man hoary and old,
Cutting the heath on the open wold;
The strokes of his bill were faint and few,
Ere this frolicsome wind upon him blew ;
But behind him, before him, about him, it came,
And the breath seem'd gone from his feeble frame,
So he sat him down, with a muttering tone,
Saying, "Plague on the wind! was the like ever
known?

But now-a-days every wind that blows,
Tells one how weak an old man grows!"

But away went the wind in its holiday glee,
And now it was far on the billowy sea,
And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow,
And the little boats darted to and fro.

But lo! it was night, and it sank to rest,
On the sea-bird's rock, in the gleaming west,
Laughing, to think in its fearful fun,
How little of mischief it had done.