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 Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The sick man from his chamber looks He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool; Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighboring school With more than their wonted noise And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, Till the treacherous pool Ingulfs them in its whirling In the country, on every side, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, To the dry grass and the drier grain In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand; The clover-scented gale, And the vapors that arise From the well-watered and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil Seem to thank the Lord, More than man's spoken word. Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees, His pastures, and his fields of grain, To the numberless beating drops He counts it as no sin That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain. These, and far more than these, WHO has not dreamed a world of bliss Who has not loved at such an hour, The crackling of the gorse-flowers, near, WILLIAM HOWITT. SUMMER MOODS. I LOVE at eventide to walk alone, In vain, for flowers that bloomed but newly there; While in the juicy corn the hidden quail The fairy-like and seldom-seen land-rail SIGNS OF RAIN. JOHN CLARE. PORTY REASONS FOR NOT ACCEPTING AN INVITATION OF A FRIEND TO MAKE AN EXCURSION WITH HIM. 1 THE hollow winds begin to blow ; 2 The clouds look black, the glass is low, 3 The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, 4 And spiders from their cobwebs peep. 5 Last night the sun went pale to bed, 6 The moon in halos hid her head; 7 The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, 8 For see a rainbow spans the sky. 9 The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 10 Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. 11 Hark how the chairs and tables crack! 12 Old Betty's nerves are on the rack; 13 Loud quacks the duck, the peacocks cry, 14 The distant hills are seeming nigh. 15 How restless are the snorting swine! 16 The busy flies disturb the kine; 17 Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, 18 The cricket, too, how sharp he sings, 19 Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, 20 Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws, 21 Through the clear streams the fishes rise, 22 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. 23 The glow-worms, numerous and light, 24 Illumed the dewy dell last night, 25 At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 26 Hopping and crawling o'er the green, 27 The whirling dust the wind obeys, 28 And in the rapid eddy plays; 29 The frog has changed his yellow vest, 30 And in a russet coat is dressed. 31 Though June, the air is cold and still, 32 The mellow black bird's voice is shrill; 33 My dog, so altered in his taste, 34 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast; 35 And see yon rooks, how odd their flight, 36 They imitate the gliding kite, 37 And seem precipitate to fall, 38 As if they felt the piercing ball. 39 'T will surely rain; I see with sorrow, 40 Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow. SUMMER STORM. ANONYMOUS. UNTREMULOUS in the river clear, Toward the sky's image, hangs the imaged bridge; So still the air that I can hear The slender clarion of the unseen midge; Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep, Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases, 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 In dust on the other side; life's emblem deep, A confused noise between two silences, Finding at last in dust precarious peace. On the wide marsh the purple-blossomed grasses Soak up the sunshine; sleeps the brimming tide Save when the wedge-shaped wake in silence passes Of some slow water-rat, whose sinuous glide Wavers the long green sedge's shade from side to side; But up the west, like a rock-shivered surge, Climbs a great cloud edged with sun-whitened spray; Huge whirls of foam boil toppling o'er its verge, And falling still it seems, and yet it climbs alway. Suddenly all the sky is hid As with the shutting of a lid, One by one great drops are falling Doubtful and slow, Down the pane they are crookedly crawling, And the wind breathes low; Slowly the circles widen on the river, Now on the hills I hear the thunder mutter, We shall not see the sun go down to-day : And tramples the grass with terrified feet, The startled river turns leaden and harsh, You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat. Look! look! that livid flash! Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash, For a breath's space I see the blue wood again, And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile, That seemed but now a league aloof, Bursts crackling o'er the sun-parched roof; Against the windows the storm comes dashing, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes, The white waves are tumbling, And, in one baffled roar, Like the toothless sea mumbling A rock-bristled shore, The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling, Will silence return nevermore? Hush! Still as death, The tempest holds his breath The rain stops short, but from the eaves The crinkled lightning His battle-song, How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun! How lovely and joyful the course that he run, Though he rose in a mnist when his race he begun, And there followed some droppings of rain! But now the fair traveller's come to the west, He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best: And foretells a bright rising again. Just such is the Christian; his course he begins, Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins, And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines, And travels his heavenly way: But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array. ISAAC WATTS. MOONLIGHT IN SUMMER. Low on the utmost boundary of the sight, |