002. "The North Wind", p. 2

“I’ve blown the pure* untrodden snows
In whirling eddies from their brows,
And I have howled in caverns wild,
Where thou a joyous mountain child
Didst dearly love to be.
The sweet world is not changed but thou
Art pining in a dungeon now,
Where thou must ever be;
No voice but mine can reach thine ear
And Heaven has kindly sent me here,
To mourn and sigh with thee,
And tell the[e] of the cherrished land
Of thy nativity.”

Blow on wild wind, thy solemn voice,
However sad and drear,
Is nothing to the gloomy silence
I have had to bear;

Hot tears are streaming from my eyes,
But these are better far,

*Note: Chitham (1979) transcribes the starred word as “wild,” but the manuscript reads “pure.”