Читать книгу The Cambridge Book of Poetry for Children - Various - Страница 39

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The wind one morning sprang up from sleep,

Saying, “Now for a frolic! now for a leap!

Now for a madcap 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 blustering and humming,

And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming.

It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows,

And tossed the colts’ manes all about their brows,

Till, offended at such a familiar salute,

They all turned their backs, and stood sullenly mute.

So on it went, capering and playing its pranks;

Whistling with reeds on the broad river’s banks;

Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,

Or the traveller grave on the king’s highway.

It was not too nice[1] to hustle 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 roared, and cried gaily, “Now,

You sturdy old oaks, I’ll make you bow!”

And it made them bow without more ado,

Or it cracked 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 screamed 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 tossed him and twirled him, then passed, and he stood

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

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.

William Howitt.

[1] nice: particular.