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Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft | Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves western wind;
His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; Cuckoo! Cuckoo! he sings again, his notes are And from the crowded fold, in order, drives void of art ;
His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn. But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep
JAMES THOMSON. founts of the heart.
SONG OF THE SUMMER WINDS.
Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought
crazed wight like me,
summer tree !
Up the dale and down the bourne,
O'er the meadow swift we fly ;
Now we whistle, now we sigh.
By the grassy-fringéd river,
Through the murmuring reeds we sweep ; Mid the lily-leaves we quiver,
To their very hearts we creep.
And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's
bright summer day,
less, truant boy
mighty heart of joy !
I'm proud to think
delight to drink ;
calm, unclouded sky,
days gone by.
me dark and cold,
Now the maiden rose is blushing
At the frolic things we say,
Like some truant bees at play.
Through the blooming groves we rustle,
Kissing every bud we pass,
Scarcely knowing how it was.
Down the glen, across the mountain,
O'er the yellow heath we roam,
Till its little breakers foam.
Bending down the weeping willows,
While our vesper hymn we sigh ;
On our weary wings we hie.
FROM "THE SEASONS."
Short is the doubtful empire of the night;
RAIN IN SUMMER.
How beautiful is the rain !
And from the bladed field the fearful hare
How it clatters along the roofs,
Walking the fenceless fields of air ;
He can behold
Sees forms appear and disappear,
HENRY WADSWORTH LOXGFELLOW
A JUNE DAY.
Across the window-pane
The sick man from his chamber looks
the neighboring school
In the country, on every side,
Who has not dreamed a world of bliss
The crackling of the gorse-flowers, near,
17 Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, Pouring an orange-scented tide
18 The cricket, too, how sharp he sings, Of fragrance o'er the desert wide ?
19 Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, To hear the buzzard's whimpering shrill, 20 Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws, Hovering above you high and still ?
21 Through the clear streams the fishes rise, The twittering of the bird that dwells
22 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. Among the heath's delicious bells?
23 The glow-worms, numerous and light, While round your bed, o'er fern and blade, 24 Illumed the dewy dell last night, Insects in green and gold arrayed,
25 At dusk the squalid toad was seen, The sun's gay tribes have lightly strayed ; 26 Hopping and crawling o'er the green, And sweeter sound their humming wings 27 The whirling dust the wind obeys, Than the proud minstrel's echoing strings. 28 And in the rapid eddy plays ;
29 The frog has changed his yellow vest,
32 The mellow black bird's voice is shrill ; SUMMER MOODS.
33 My dog, so altered in his taste,
34 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast ; I LOVE at eventide to walk alone, Down narrow glens, o'erhung with dewy thorn,
35 And see yon rooks, how odd their flight, Where, from the long grass underneath, the snail,
36 They imitate the gliding kite,
37 And seem precipitate to fall, Jet black, creeps out, and sprouts his timid horn. I love to muse o'er meadows newly mown,
38 As if they felt the piercing ball.
39 'T will surely rain ; I see with sorrow, Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air ; Where bees search round, with sad and weary
40 Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow. drone, In vain, for flowers that bloomed but newly
there ; While in the juicy corn the hidden quail
SUMMER STORM. Cries, “Wet my foot"; and, hid as thoughts
UNTREMULOUS in the river clear, unborn,
Toward the sky's image, hangs the imaged bridge ; The fairy-like and seldom-seen land-rail Utters -Craik, craik,” like voices underground, The slender clarion of the unseen midge ;
So still the air that I can hear Right glad to meet the evening's dewy veil,
Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep, And see the light fade into gloom around.
Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases, JOHN CLARE.
Now lulls, now swells, and all the while increases,
The huddling trample of a drove of sheep
Tilts the loose planks, and then as gradually ceases SIGNS OF RAIN.
In dust on the other side ; life's emblem deep,
A confused noise between two silences, PORTY REASONS POR NOT ACCEPTING AN INVITATION OF
Finding at last in dust precarious peace. A FRIEND TO MAKE AN EXCURSION WITH HIM.
On the wide marsh the purple-blossomed grasses 1 The hollow winds begin to blow ;
Soak up the sunshine ; sleeps the brimming 2 The clouds look black, the glass is low,
tide 3 The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, Save when the wedge-shaped wake in silence passes 4 And spiders from their cobwebs peep. Of some slow water-rat, whose sinuous glide 5 Last night the sun went pale to bed, Wavers the long green sedge's shade from side 6 The moon in halos hid her head ;
to side; 7 The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, But up the west, like a rock-shivered surge, 8 For see a rainbow spans the sky.
Climbs a great cloud edged with sun-whitened 9 The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
spray ; 10 Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. Huge whirls of foam boil toppling o'er its verge, 11 Hark how the chairs and tables crack ! And falling stillit seems, and yet it climbs alway. 12 Old Betty's nerves are on the rack ; 13 Loud quacks the duck, the peacocks cry, Suddenly all the sky is hid 14 The distant hills are seeming nigh.
As with the shutting of a lid, 15 How restless are the snorting swine ! One by one great drops are falling 16 The busy flies disturb the kine ;
Doubtful and slow,
Down the pane they are crookedly crawling, Followed by silence dead and dull,
As if the cloud, let go,
Leapt bodily below Widen and mingle, one and all ;
To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow, Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver,
And then a total lull. Struck by an icy rain-drop's fall.
Gone, gone, so soon ! Now on the hills I hear the thunder mutter,
No more my half-crazed fancy there The wind is gathering in the west ;
Can shape a giant in the air, The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter,
No more I see his streaming hair, Then droop to a fitful rest ;
The writhing portent of his form ; Up from the stream with sluggish flap
The pale and quiet moon Struggles the gull and floats away ;
Makes her calm forehead bare, Nearer and nearer rolls the thunder-clar,
And the last fragments of the storm, We shall not see the sun go down to-day :
Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea, Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh,
Silent and few, are drifting over me.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
A SUMMER EVENING.
How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun! As if some cloud-crag, split asunder,
How lovely and joyful the course that he run, Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash,
Though he rose in a unist when his race he begun, On the Earth, which crouches in silence under ;
And there followed some droppings of rain ! And now a solid gray wall of rain
But now the fair traveller's come
the west, Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile ;
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best : For a breath's space I see the blue wood again, He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest, And, ere the next heart beat, the wind-hurled pile,
And foretells a bright rising again. That seemed but now a league aloof,
Bursts crackling o'er the sun-parched roof; Just such is the Christian ; his course he begins, Against the windows the storm comes dashing,
Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, And melts into tears; then he breaks out and The blue lightning flashes,
And travels his heavenly way:
But when he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, Like the toothless sea mumbling
And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days,
Of rising in brighter array.
And crashing and crumbling,
MOONLIGHT IN SUMMER.
Low on the utmost boundary of the sight,
The rising vapors catch the silver light ;
Passing the source of light; and thence away, Again, now, now, again
Succeeded quick by brighter still than they. Plashes the rain in heavy gouts,
For yet above these wasted clouds are seen
(In a remoter sky still more serene)
Others, detached in ranges through the air, And loud and long
Spotless as snow, and countless as they 're fair; Again the thunder shonts
Scattered immensely wide from east to west, His battle-song,
The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest. One quivering flash,
These, to the raptured mind, aloud proclaim One wildering crash,
Their mighty Shepherd's everlasting name;
And thus the loiterer's utmost stretch of soul | How deep the silence, yet how loud the praise !
A tongue in every star that talks with man, High o'er his home and all his little woes. And wooes him to be wise ? nor wooes in vain :
ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
At this still hour the self-collected soul
Of high descent, and more than mortal rank ; " One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine." - YOUNG.
An embryo God; a spark of fire divine, 'Tis past,
the sultry tyrant of the South Which must burn on for ages, when the sun Hasspent his short-lived rage ; more grateful hours (Fair transitory creature of a day :) Move silent on; the skies no more repel Has closed his golden eye, and, wrapt in shades, The dazzled sight, but, with mild maiden beams Forgets his wonted journey through the East. Of tempered lustre, court the cherished eye Ye citadels of light, and seats of gods ! To wander o'er their sphere ; where, hung aloft, Perhaps my future home, from whence the soul, Dian's bright crescent, like a silver bow, Revolving periods past, may oft look back, New strung in heaven, lifts its beamy horns With recollected tenderness, on all Impatient for the night, and seems to push The various busy scenes she left below, Her brother down the sky. Fair Venus shines Its deep-laid projects and its strange events, Even in the eye of day; with sweetest beam As on some fond and doting tale that soothed Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood Her infant hours, – 0, be it lawful now Of softened radiance with her dewy locks. To tread the hallowed circle of your courts, The shadows spread apace; while meekened Eve, And with mute wonder and delighted awe Her cheek yet warm with blushes, slow retires Approach your burning confines. Seized in Through the Hesperian gardens of the West,
thought, And shuts the gates of Day. 'T is now the hour On Fancy's wild and roving wing I sail, When Contemplation, from her sunless haunts, From the green borders of the peopled earth, The cool damp grotto, or the lonely depth And the pale moon, her duteous, fair attendant ; Of unpierced woods, where wrapt in solid shade From solitary Mars, from the vast orb She mused away the gaudy hours of noon, Of Jupiter, whose huge gigantic bulk And fed on thoughts unripened by the sun, Dances in ether like the lightest leaf; Moves forward and with radiant finger points To the dim verge, the suburbs of the system, To yon blue concave swelled by breath divine, Where cheerless Saturn midst his watery moons Where, one by one, the living eyes of heaven Girt with a lucid zone, in gloomy pomp, Awake, quick kindling o'er the face of ether Sits like an exiled monarch : fearless thence One boundless blaze ; ten thousand trembling I launch into the trackless deeps of space, fires,
Where, burning round, ten thousand suns appear, And dancing lustres, where the unsteady eye, Of elder beam, which ask no leave to shine Restless and dazzled, wanders unconfined Of our terrestrial star, nor borrow light O'er all this field of glories ; spacious field, From the proud regent of our scanty day; And worthy of the Master : He whose hand Sons of the morning, first-born of creation, With hieroglyphics elder than the Nile
And only less than Him who marks their track Inscribed the mystic tablet ; hung on high And guides their fiery wheels. Here must I stop, To public gaze, and said, Adore, O man ! Or is there aught beyond ? What hand unseen The finger of thy God. From what pure
wells Impels me onward through the glowing orbs Of milky light, what soft o'erflowing urn, Of habitable nature, far remote, Are all these lamps so filled ? — these friendly To the dread confines of eternal night, lamps,
To solitudes of waste unpeopled space, Forever streaming o'er the azure deep
The deserts of creation, wide and wild ; To point our path, and light us to our home. Where embryo systems and unkindled suns How soft they slide along their lucid spheres ! Sleep in the womb of chaos ? Fancy droops, And, silent as the foot of Time, fulfil
And Thought, astonished, stops her bold career. Their destined courses. Nature's self is hushed, But, O thou mighty Mind ! whose powerful word And but a scattered leaf, which rustles through Said, “Thus let all things be," and thus they The thick-wove foliage, not a sound is heard
were, To break the midnight air ; though the raised ear, Where shall I seek thy presence ? how unblamed Intently listening, drinks in every breath. Invoke thy dread perfection?