I sat by the casement; before me there Lay a treasured thing, a long tress of hair, And it moved my heart with a touching power— ’Twas the cherished gift of a parting hour. The sun-shine lay ’mid its nut-brown fold With a loving smile, as it did of old. When the curl waved free in its careless grace, Like a cloud in the sky, o’er the smiling face Of the gentle girl that I loved so well— A dimming tear on the bright lock fell As thoughts of the loved one far away, And the teeming past, on my sad heart lay. A Zephyr, that all this time had play’d, Like a laughing child, ’mid the rose tree’s shade, Flew up, like a bird, to the casement there, And bore off in triumph the lock of hair. ’Twas a cruel theft! and harsh words of blame, Like a mountain stream, from my full heart came, For the reckless deeds of the careless thing, Ever hovering near on mischievous wing. But the day before, he had entered my bower, And scattered the leaves of its loveliest flower, And bore off a letter that lay unread, ’Neath the scented buds, on a mossy bed, To the brook hard by, who, with dimpled cheek And a smothered laugh at the Zephyr’s freak, Received the gift, and bounded on As wild, and free, as a forest fawn, To its hiding spots ’neath the greenwood shade, Glancing back, through the leaves, where the young wind play’d. “Now! Spirit of Air,” I cried, “gay breeze— Are all thine acts as unkind as these? Thy wings are unfettered—thy path is free— Yet mine is the power to follow thee.” Then thought sprang up on her weariless wing, And tracked the wind, in imagining. He stole the white plume from the thistle’s crest, Which was light as down on the swan’s pure breast, And with waving wing bore the prize away To a happy group ’mid the flowers at play, And fanning the cheek of each laughing boy, With his cooling wing, waved the downy toy Their bright heads above, and the careless band, With eager eye, and with outstretched hand, Ran away, in chase of the silvery thing That the Zephyr bore on exulting wing. Now slowly it floated their hands beneath— Now upward it sprang on a stronger breath— Now wafted afar—’twas a merry race The Zephyr to lead, and the children in chase! He left them behind, but bore along Their glee-toned voices, in joyous song, And each lone mother looked up and smiled, As she caught the tones of her darling child, And paused awhile from her toil, to bless The heart, o’erflowing with happiness.