BRITISH SPORT PAST AND PRESENT 



ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND 



Welcome, wild North-easter ! 

 Shame it is to see 

 Odes to every zephyr ; 

 Ne'er a verse to thee. 

 Welcome, black North-easter ! 

 O'er the German foam ; 

 O'er the Danish moorlands. 

 From thy frozen home. 

 Tired we are of summer, 

 Tired of gaudy glare. 

 Showers soft and steaming. 

 Hot and breathless air. 

 Tired of listless dreaming. 

 Through the lazy day : 

 Jovial wind of winter 

 Turns us out to play ! 

 Sweep the golden reed-beds ; 

 Crisp the lazy dyke ; 

 Hunger into madness 

 Every plunging pike. 

 Fill the lake with wild-fowl ; 

 Fill the marsh with snipe; 

 While on dreary moorlands 

 Lonely curlews pipe. 

 Though the black fir-forest 

 Thunder harsh and liry, 

 Shattering down the snow-flakes 

 Off the curdled sky. 

 Hark ! the brave North-easter ! 

 Breast-high lies the scent, 

 On by holt and headland, 

 Over heath and bent. 

 Chime, ye dappled darlings. 

 Through the sleet and snow. 

 Who can over-ride you .'' 



Let the horses go ! 

 Chime, ye dappled darlings, 

 Down the roaring blast ; 

 You shall see a fox die 

 Ere an hour be past. 

 Go ! and rest to-morrow, 

 Hunting in your dreams. 

 While our skates are ringing 

 O'er the frozen streams. 

 Let the luscious South-wind 

 Breathe in lovers' sighs. 

 While the lazy gallants 

 Bask in ladies' eyes. 

 What does he but soften 

 Heart alike and pen .'' 

 'Tis the hard grey weather 

 Breeds hard English men. 

 What's the soft South-wester ? 

 'Tis the ladies' breeze, 

 Brina-ing home their true-loves 

 Out of all the seas : 

 But the black North-easter, 

 Through the snowstorm hurled, 

 Drives our English hearts of oak 

 Seaward round the world. 

 Come, as came our fathers. 

 Heralded by thee, 

 Conquering from the eastward, 

 Lords by land and sea. 

 Come, and strong within us 

 Stir the Vikings' blood ; 

 Bracing brain and sinew ; 

 Blow, thou wind of God ! 



Charles Kingslev, 1854. 



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