POETRY.

THE WINDS' STORY.

THE North Wind blew at night off the sea, Saying, "Sorrowful, sorrowful, all of me ! I sing of the numbing winter's breath, I sing of snow, and death.

I bring in the wave with the broken spar, And the grey seas curling over the bar,

Drifting at night from a cold bright star,—

Sorrowful, sorrowful, all of me !"

The South Wind blew at noon off the sea, Singing, "Sorrowful, sorrowful, come to me ! I sing of the golden buttercup breath, I sing the peace of death.

I bring in the shells with the laughing tide, And follow the brown sails home, and slide In the drowsy heat down the meadow-side,- Sorrowful, sorrowful, come to me !"

The East Wind blew at morn off the sea, Crying, "Sorrowful, sorrowful, all of me ! I sing of the piercing iceberg's breath, I sing the horror of death.

And the tempest's shriek in the rigging black, And the spindrift wreath and the rolling wrack,

And the boat that never again comes.back,—

Sorrowful, sorrowful, all of me ! "

The West Wind blew at dawn off the sea, Calling, "Sorrowful, sorrowful, come to me !

I sing of the joyous salt sea-breath, I sing, There is no death!

I murmur of sea-caves rosy and deep, And the glittering bay where the shoal-fish leap,

And the lapse of the tide as it sinks to sleep,—

Sorrowful, sorrowful, come to me !"

A. E. GILLINGTON.