Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft | Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves western wind ;

His inossy cottage, where with peace he dwells; Cuckoo ! Cuckoo! he sings again, - his notes are And from the crowded folu, 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.


Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought

crazed wight like me, To sinell again these summer flowers beneath this

summer tree ! To suck once more in every breath their little

Up the dale and down the bourne,

O'er the meadow swift we fly ;
Now we sing, and now we mourn,

Now we whistle, now we sigh.

souls away,

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, When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the reck

less, truant boy Wandered through greenwoods all day long, a

mighty heart of joy ! I'm sadder now,

I have had cause ; but 0,
I 'm proud to think
That each pure joy-fount, loved of yore, I yet

delight to drink ;-
Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the

calm, unclouded sky, Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the

days gone by. When summer's loveliness and light fall round

me dark and cold, I'll bear indeell life's heaviest curse,

a heart that hath waxed old !

Now the maiden rose is blushing

At the frolic things we say,
While aside her check we're rushing,

Like some truant bees at play.

Through the blooming groves we rustle,

Kissing every bud we pass,
As we did it in the bustle,

Scarcely knowing how it was.

Down the glen, across the mountain,

O'er the yellow heatlı we roam,
Whirling round about the fountain,

Till its little breakers foam.



Bending down the weeping willows,

While our vesper hymn we sigh ;
Then unto our rosy pillows

On our weary wings we hie.

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There of idlenesses dreaming,

Scarce from waking we refrain,
Moments long as ages deeming
Till we're at our play again.



Snort is the doubtful empire of the night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek-eyed morn appears, inother of dews,
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east,
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow,
And, from before the lustre of her face,
White break the clouds away. With quickened

Brown night retires. Young day pours in apace,
And opens all the lawny prospect wide.
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top,
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.
Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents

And from the bladed field the fearful hare
Limps, awkward ; while along the forest glade
The will deer trip, and often turning gaze
At early passenger. Music awakes,
The native voice of undissembled joy ;
And thick around the woolland hymus arise.

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Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain !

Walking the fenceless fields of air;
And froin each ample fold
Of the clouds about him rolled
Scattering everywhere
The showery rain,
As the farmer scatters his grain.

The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain.

He can behold
Things manifold
That have not yet been wholly told,
Hlave not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,
Follows the water-drops
Down to the graves of the dead,
Down through chasms and gulfs profound,
To the dreary fountain-head
Of lakes and rivers underground ;
And sees them, when the rain is done,
On the bridge of colors seven
Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.

From the neighboring school
Come the boys,
With inore than their wonted noise
And commotion ;
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
Till the treacherous pool
Ingulfs them in its whirling
And turbulent ocean.

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In the country, on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leoparil's tawny and spotted hide,
Stretches the plain,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain !
In the furrowed land
The toilsome and patient oxen stand ;
Lifting the yoke-encumbered head,
With their dilated nostrils spread,
They silently inhale
The clover-scented gale,
And the vapors that arise
From the well-watered and smoking soil.
For this rest in the furrow after toil
Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,
More than man's spoken word.
Near at hand,
From under the sheltering trees,
The farmer sees
His pastures, and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops
To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein
Only his own thrift and gain.
These, and far more than these,
The Poet sees!
He can behold
Aquarius old

Wuo has not dreamed a world of bliss
On a bright sunny noon like this,
Couched by his native brook's green maze,
With comrade of his boyish days,
While all around them seemed to be
Just as in joyous infancy?
Who has not loved at such an hour,
Upon that heath, in birchen bower,
Lulled in the poet's dreamy mood,
Its wild and sunny solitude ?
While o'er the waste of purple ling
You mark a sultry glimmering ;
Silence herself there seems to sleep,
Wrapped in a slumber long and deep,
Where slowly stray those lonely sheep
Through the tall foxglove's crimson bloom,
And gleaming of the scattered broom.
Love you not, then, to list and hear




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,
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 ; SUMMER MOODS.

33 My dog, so altered in his taste, I LOVE at eventide to walk alone,

34 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast ; Down narrow glens, o'erhung with dewy thorn,

35 And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,

36 They imitate the gliding kite, Where, from the long grass underneath, the snail, Jet black, creeps out, and sprouts his timid horn.

37 And seem precipitate to fall, 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 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

So still the air that I can hear Utters Craik, craik,” like voices underground, The slender clarion of the unseen midge ; 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

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 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,



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