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NATURE'S BENISONS.

NOT only around our infancy

Doth Heaven with all its splendours lie;1
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not.
Over our manhood bend the skies;

Against our fallen and traitor lives

The great winds utter prophecies;

With our faint hearts the mountain strives,
Its arms outstretched, the Druid wood
Waits with its benedicite ;2

And to our age's drowsy blood

Still shouts the inspiring sea.

Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking:
'Tis Heaven alone that is given away,
'Tis only God may be had for the asking,
No price is set on the lavish 3 sunimer;
June may be had by the poorest comer.

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays :
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;

The flush of life may well be seen

Thrilling back over hills and valleys;

The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,1
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;

1 See Wordsworth on Intimations, etc., page 50.

2 benedicite-benediction, or utterance of blessing. Benison, as in title, means blessing conferred.

3 lavish-bountiful.

4 chalice-cup.

The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun

With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,—
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

Now is the high-tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade, and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near,

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,

That the river is bluer than the sky,

That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers 2 we should not lack;

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,3
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how
Everything is happy now,

Everything is upwards striving;

;

'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true As for grass to be green, or skies to be blue,— 'Tis the natural way of living:

1 Atilt-poised or balanced.

2 couriers-messengers.

3 chanticleer-the cock,

Who knows whither the clouds have fled?

In the unscarred1 heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; The soul partakes the season's youth,

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.

James Russell Lowell: born, 1819. (See page 22.)

A SULTRY SUMMER'S DAY.

IT is a sultry day; the sun has drunk
The dew that lay upon the morning grass;
There is no rustling in the lofty elm
That canopies my dwelling, and its shade
Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint
And interrupted murmur of the bee,
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again
Instantly on the wing. The plants around
Feel the too potent fervours :3 the tall maize
Rolls up its long green leaves the clover droops
Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.
But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,
With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,
As if the scorching heat and dazzling light
Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven,—
Their bases on the mountains-their white tops
Shining in the far ether-fire the air
With a reflected radiance, and make turn
The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie
Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,
Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun,

Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind
That still delays its coming. Why so slow,

1 unscarred-smooth.

2 rifts-clefts, as in volcanic eruptions and earthquakes. 8 potent fervours-powerful heats.

F

Gentle and voluble1 spirit of the air?
Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth
Coolness and life.

Is it that in his caves

He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge,
The pine is bending his proud top, and now
Among the nearer groves, chesnut and oak
Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes !
Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves!
The deep distressful silence of the scene
Breaks up with mingling of unnumber'd sounds
And universal motion. He is come,

Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,
And bearing on their fragrance; and he brings
Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs,
And sound of swaying branches, and the voice
Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs
Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers,
By the road-side, and the borders of the brook,
Nod gaily to each other; glossy leaves
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew
Were on them yet; and silver waters break
Into small waves, and sparkle as he comes.

William Cullen Bryant: 1794-1878.

An American poet. Bryant gained some celebrity at the age of thirteen by the publication of a clever satirical poem on the politics of the day. He began life as a lawyer; but gave up practice in 1825, and devoted himself to literature. He became editor of the New York Evening Post in 1826. Bryant's chief power in poetry lies in the description of wild and solitary scenery, and the mental impressions which arise from contemplation of the works of nature.

SUMMER'S EVE.

CLEAR had the day been from the dawn,
All chequered was the sky,

Thin clouds, like scarfs of cobweb lawn,
Veil'd heaven's most glorious eye.

1 voluble-fluent, easy-moving.

The wind had no more strength than this,
That leisurely it blew,

To make one leaf the next to kiss,
That closely by it grew.

The rills that on the pebbles played,
Might now be heard at will;
This world the only music made,
Else every thing was still.

And to itself the subtle 1 air
Such sovereignty assumes,
That it receiv'd too large a share
From nature's rich perfumes.

Michael Drayton: 1563-1631.

At the age of thirty Drayton published a collection of his pastoral poems, and at intervals of a few years, from 1593 to the time of his death, he published several other volumes of verse. His most remarkable work is the Polyolbion, a description of English scenery and society, full of curious information on topographical antiquities, yet poetical throughout.

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.

RED o'er the forest peers the setting sun,
The line of yellow light dies fast away

That crown'd the eastern copse: and chill and dun 2
Falls on the moor the brief November day.

Now the tir'd hunter winds a parting note,
And Echo bids good-night from every glade :
Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float
Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.

How like decaying life they seem to glide!
And yet no second spring have they in store,
But where they fall, forgotten to abide

Is all their portion, and they ask no more.

1 subtle-artful: the air being here personified.
2 dun-gloomy.

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