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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
founts of the heart.
SONG OF THE SUMMER WINDS.
· Up the dale and down the bourne,
O'er the meadow swift we fly ;
Now we whistle, now we sigh.
By the grassy-fringed river,
Through the murmuring reeds we sweep; Mid the lily-leaves we quiver,
To their very hearts we creep.
Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon for thought
crazed wight like me, To smell again these summer flowers beneath this
summer trec ! To suck once more in every breath their little
souls away, 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 proud to think
delight to drink ;-
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 indeel life's heaviest curse, – a heart
that hath waxed old !
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.
There of idlenesses dreaming,
Scarce from waking we refrain,
FROM "THE SEASONS.”
RAIN IN SUMMER.
How beautiful is the rain !
How it clatters along the roofs,