448 The Mountain Wind. [September, 



%\t gUttntitiii; Mini. 



BY REV. JAMES GILBORNE LYONS, LL.D. 



The local allusions in this song make it necessary to state that it 

 was written in Scotland, after visiting the sublime mountain scenery 

 round Castletown of Braemar. 



Blast of the mountain, the strongest, the fleetest, 



Sounding at eve in the pines of " Braemar," — 

 Breeze of the desert, the purest, the sweetest, 



Warbling alone on the moorlands afar, — 

 Hasten, unseen ! from the tields of thy freedom, 



Play round my bosom, and steal o'er my brow ; — 

 Harpstrings of Morven, and perfume as of Edom, 



Bring not to my spirit such gladness as thou. 



Come from the brake where the wild bird is singing 



Come from the fresh bank that gladdens the bee, 

 Come from the cliff where the blue bell is springing 



Hidden from all but the sunbeam and thee ; 

 Rise in thy strength from the vale of thy slumbers, 



Waken! my spirit has pin'd for thee long: — 

 Oh for the music that swells in thy numbers ! 



Oh for the wildness that breathes in thy song ! 



Welcome, thou playmate and friend of my childhood 



Thou art the same that I loved in my youth; — 

 Others were false as those leaves in the wild wood. 



Thou still dost retain thy freshness and truth ; — 

 Thou still dost rejoice in melody roaming 



Thro' the long fern where the dew spangles gleam, 

 Thou, when the swift brooks are turbidly foaming, 



Dashest the spray from the vex'd mountain stream 



Bard of the hill ! when thy harping is loudest. 



Bid me not think with the tyrant or slave ; — 

 Teach me to strive with the worst and the proudest, 



Fearless as thou with steep Garvel's dark wave; 

 Teaoh me to rise with a lofty devotion. 



Pure as thou rovest the blossoming sod. 

 Sweeping the chords with a sacred emotion. 



Singing of Truth, and Pvedemption, and God. 



