Oh! Northward wind, born in thy womb,
Lo! Thy soul be wrought and fixed,
Encased within my captors tomb,
Of head and foot betwixt.

Diffusing as vapor through the pores,
When the keeper dulls her eyes,
Soaring to hover over yonder shores,
Reduced, yet swollen it so flies.

Nightly northward, where passion lives,
Where hope of itself be found,
Ah! The glimpse of freedom that it gives,
Less the state of which I'm bound.

Until the morn comes yet again,
And the watchful eye doth wake,
Unaware where thy soul has been,
Or of a yearn no bond can break.

Oh! What strength of thy desire,
Will set thy shackles free?
And if no earthly pow'r transpire,
Soul ..make haste...eternity!