Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume IX, Issue 463, 21 March 1867, Page 4

Select Poetry.

HUNTING THE WIND, %pfH£N the fire is burning bright, (Sc* And the kettle bums and slug* In the happy winter night. Children talk of many things : Talk of mermaids in the sea And.of fairies in the wood, pretty tilings that ought to bs. And surely would be if they could ! Then tie wind comes creeping near. Tired of fighting with the trees, list’ning with a sort of fear, To such meory sounds as thsss ; Crying like a chlid in pain, With a foolish ceaseless din. Knocking on the glass again, hogging them to let it in 1 Cut spake little Curlyhead ’* This poor wind is talceu ill; Boon it will be lying dead On the frozen window sill. Very cruel children we If we let it die alone— If we do not run and see Why it makes that dreary moan * And he flung the window open wide, And the wind came tearing through, Dashing everything aside With its hulla-bulia-Ioo! Blowing both the candles out— Soaring, rushing, raving by— Scattering the smoke about— While the children scream and fly! ‘ Out spake little Curlyhead, Though his breath he scarce can draw •' Nurse would snatch us off to bed If this horrid mess she saw ! Hunt the thankless creature low— Seize it—catch it—if you cau. 1 will teach it manners, though. If X live to he a man 1” Chubby anus are flung about. Toddling feet run here and there— Borne would chase the creature out, Some would tie it to a chair— While the eldest of the crowd Shuts the window where she stands, little Blue-eyes shouts aloud She has caught it in her hands 1 Curlyhead with manly rage Stamps his foot and cries, “ Hurrah t” Eedcheeks brings an empty cage, Where no pretty birdies are ; Lltt’.e Blue-eyes fat and fair, Hollow'd bauds above her head, Moves with cautious footsteps where Eedcheeks stands with Curlyhead. Curlyhead the cage doth hold, Eedcheeks keeps it open wide, Little Blue-eyes, when she’s told, Thrusts her two fat hands inside. Ah ! they have the fellow now. Little Blue-eyes shouts anew ; Curlyhead performs a how, Eedcheeks makes a curtsey too ! Hang the cage up if you will; Clap your bauds ye hunters rare. But he is so sad and still— Are you sure that he is there ? Ah, the days are coming when You’ll have many a chase as blind; — Capture, triumph, laugh, and then But an empty casket find . —Aunt Judy’s Magazine for October.