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I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid zone ! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Let me chase thy waving lines ; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosphere ; Swimmer through the waves of air, Voyager of light and noon, Epicurean of June ! Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum, All without is martyrdom, When the south-wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall; And, with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With the color of romance ; And infusing subtle heats Turns the sod to violets, Thou in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow breezy bass.

HAPPY insect! ever blest
With a more than mortal rest,
Rosy dews the leaves among,
Humble joys, and gentle song !
Wretched poet ! ever curst
With a life of lives the worst,
Sad despondence, restless fears,
Endless jealousies and tears.

In the burning summer thou
Warblest on the verdant bough,
Meditating cheerful play,
Mindless of the piercing ray ;
Scorched in Cupid's fervors, I
Ever weep and ever die.

Proud to gratify thy will,
Ready Nature waits thee still ;
Balmy wines to thee she pours,
Weeping through the dewy flowers,
Rich as those by Hebe given
To the thirsty sons of heaven.

Yet, alas, we both agree.
Miserable thou like me!
Each, alike, in youth rehearses
Gentle strains and tender verses ;
Ever wandering far from home,
Mindless of the days to come
(Such as aged Winter brings
Trembling on his icy wings),
Both alike at last we die ;
Thou art starved, and so am I!

WALTER HARTE.

Hot midsummer's petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone
Tells of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers ;
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound,
In Indian wildernesses found ;
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure.

THE GRASSHOPPER.

Aught unsavory or unclean
Hath my insect never seen ;
But violets, and bilberry bells,
Maple sap, and daffodels,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern, and agrimony,
Clover, catchfly, adder’s-tongue,
And brier-roses, dwelt among :
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.
Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher,
Seeing only what is fair,

Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,

Leave the chaff and take the wheat. When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast,

Happy insect, what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine !
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill ;
'Tis filled wherever thou dost tread,
Nature self's thy Ganymede.
Thou dost drink and dance and sing,
Happier than the happiest king !
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee ;
All the summer hours produce,

pozuld out, summer and winter, mirth.

AUTOREVIl Translation of

THE GRASSHOPPER AVD CRICKET.

The puthr of earth is nerer dead;
When all the bints are faint with the hot sun
An hiile in cling trees å roice will run
Fra herben to heular about the new-mown mead.
With his delights, for, when tired out with fun,
in summer lurury, - he has never done
Herrsts at allineath some
The poetrt of earth is ceasing never.
Has irrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
On a lone minter erening, when the frost
The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And sens, to one in drowsiness half lost,

THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.
GREEN little vanlter in the sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Senle roice that 's heard amidst the lazy noon
When even the bees lag at the summoning brass ;
--1nd you, warm little housekeeper, who class

7th those who think the candles come too soon,
Izoving the fire, and with your tricksome tune

The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

Sick the glad silent moments as they pass!

354

sarts ; and both seem given to

ears this natural song,

He who, froin zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky tb-

flight,
In the long way that I must tread

Will lead my steps aright.

nightful

LEIGH HUNT.

WILLIAM

THE CRICKET.

THE STORMY

A THOUSAND miles from
Tossing about on the st
From billow to bound
Like fleecy snow on
The sails are scatte
The strong masts
The mighty cab'
The hull, whic
They strain ar
Their natura

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Up and do
From the

LITTLE inmate, full of mirth,
Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode
Always harbinger of good,
Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive
Such a strain as I can give.
Thus thy praise shall be expressed,
Inoffensive, welcome guest !
While the rat is on the scout,
And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best ;
Frisking thus before the fire,
Thou hast all thy heart's desire.
Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are ;
Theirs is but a summer's song,
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpaired and shrill and clear,
Melody throughout the year.

And an
The st

A ho

For
Or
A

he takes the lead

WILLIAM COWPER

pleasant weed.

That is the grasshopper's

KATYDID.

JOHN KEATS.

I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice,

Wherever thou art hid,
Thou testy little dogmatist,

Thou pretty Katydid !
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,

Old gentlefolks are they, 1
Thou say'st an undisputed thing

In such a solemn way.

Thou art a female, Katydid !

I know it by the trill
That quivers through thy piercing notes,

So petulant and shrill.
I think there is a knot of you

Beneath the hollow tree,
A knot of spinster Katydlids, --

Do Katydids drink tea ?

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sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
>zce to the fields, the other to the hearth,

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356

THE CRICKET.

LITTLE inmate, full of mirth,
Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode
Always harbinger of good,
Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive
Such a strain as I can give.
Thus thy praise shall be expressed,
Inoffensive, welcome guest !
While the rat is on the scout,
And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best;
Frisking thus before the fire,
Thou hast all thy heart's desire.

Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are ;
Theirs is but a summer's song,
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpaired and shrill and clear,
Melody throughout the year.

WILLIAM COWPER

KATYDID.

I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice,

Wherever thou art hid,
Thou testy little dogmatist,

Thou pretty Katydid !
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,

Old gentlefolks are they,
Thou say'st an undisputed thing

In such a solemn way.

Thou art a female, Katydid !

I know it by the trill
That quivers through thy piercing notes,

So petulant and shrill.
I think there is a knot of you

Beneath the hollow tree,
A knot of spinster Katydids, –

Do Katydids drink tea 3

Both have your sunshine ; both, though small,

are strong At your clear hearts; and both seem given to

earth To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song, In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth.

LEIGH HUNT.

Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plough,
Fariner he, and landlord thou !
Thou dost innocently enjoy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy.
The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year !
Thee Phæbus loves, and does inspire ;
Phoebus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect! happy thou,
Dost neither age nor winter know ;
But when thou 'st drunk and danced and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
(Voluptuous and wise withal,
Epicurean animal !)
Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.

ANACREON (Greek). Translation of

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.

The poetry of earth is never dead ;
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
That is the grasshopper's, – he takes the lead
In summer luxury, he has never done
With his delights ; for, when tired out with fun,
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never.
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost,
The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

JOHN KEATS.

THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.

GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon
When even the bees lag at the summoning brass ;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass !

O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,

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