SUMMER SCENES.
I. Morning.
Resplendant light illumes the eastern sky,
Ere yet the glorious sun appears on high;
Aurora blushes, and a roseate hue
Decks the blue sky and paints the early dew;
The clear waves mirror the soft golden rays;
A gentle breeze in ev'ry green tree plays;
The graceful branches all obedient bend,
And to the air the flow'rs their odour lend.
The gentle murmur of the stream is heard
In the sweet silence, and each waking bird
Proclaims the morning with its sweetest song;
The silent echoes wake, and then along
The æriel space they wing their happy way,
And, through the wild-wood groves, far, far they stray
A happy life is theirs! they roam the earth;
The sylvan forests echo with their mirth;
Content and bless'd with powers far to fly,
And, when stern winter's storms obscure the sky,
The sunny south invites them there to roam
Till gentle spring returns the warblers home.
Sweet, happy birds! ye soon will leave this shore;
Some other land afar ye will explore.
Ye never know what desolation means,
So gay, so bright, where'er ye stray, the scenes.
Ah! this is happiness man may not taste:
He soon must see this verdure all laid waste:
Farewell to thee! sing on, sweet warblers, sing;
We soon must part until the budding spring.
Oh, beauteous morn! delightful hour! how sweet,
In this soft silence, in this calm retreat,
To view the glowing landscape at my feet.
The sunshine glitters in each waving tree;
Like gems the dew-drops all appear to me;
The cloudless sky is deeply blushing still,
And, rolling slow, the mist ascends the hill.
Glad sounds are heard, and silence now no more
Makes sweet the music on the rocky shore;
The rapids flow swift on their foaming way;
We hear them not, for now 'tis perfect day.
The bleating flocks are playing in the fields,
And bounteous nature her rich produce yields
'Neath the deep scythe, by man's industrious aid;
And through the meadow trips the singing maid
With health and beauty in her form; and round
The open doors, and on the fruit-strewn ground,
The laughing children play. The shell doth sound
And now they haste away!
Ere yet the glorious sun appears on high;
Aurora blushes, and a roseate hue
Decks the blue sky and paints the early dew;
The clear waves mirror the soft golden rays;
A gentle breeze in ev'ry green tree plays;
The graceful branches all obedient bend,
And to the air the flow'rs their odour lend.
The gentle murmur of the stream is heard
In the sweet silence, and each waking bird
Proclaims the morning with its sweetest song;
The silent echoes wake, and then along
The æriel space they wing their happy way,
And, through the wild-wood groves, far, far they stray
A happy life is theirs! they roam the earth;
The sylvan forests echo with their mirth;
Content and bless'd with powers far to fly,
And, when stern winter's storms obscure the sky,
The sunny south invites them there to roam
Till gentle spring returns the warblers home.
Sweet, happy birds! ye soon will leave this shore;
Some other land afar ye will explore.
Ye never know what desolation means,
So gay, so bright, where'er ye stray, the scenes.
Ah! this is happiness man may not taste:
He soon must see this verdure all laid waste:
Farewell to thee! sing on, sweet warblers, sing;
We soon must part until the budding spring.
Oh, beauteous morn! delightful hour! how sweet,
In this soft silence, in this calm retreat,
To view the glowing landscape at my feet.
The sunshine glitters in each waving tree;
Like gems the dew-drops all appear to me;
The cloudless sky is deeply blushing still,
And, rolling slow, the mist ascends the hill.
Glad sounds are heard, and silence now no more
Makes sweet the music on the rocky shore;
The rapids flow swift on their foaming way;
We hear them not, for now 'tis perfect day.
The bleating flocks are playing in the fields,
And bounteous nature her rich produce yields
'Neath the deep scythe, by man's industrious aid;
And through the meadow trips the singing maid
With health and beauty in her form; and round
The open doors, and on the fruit-strewn ground,
The laughing children play. The shell doth sound
And now they haste away!
The lovely morn
Is past, The noontide sun refolds the golden corn
The freshening air subdues the mid-day heat,
And I will rest me on this shaded seat.
Sweet morn, farewell I to me thou now hast given
Health and a joyous heart; my praise to heaven.
Is past, The noontide sun refolds the golden corn
The freshening air subdues the mid-day heat,
And I will rest me on this shaded seat.
Sweet morn, farewell I to me thou now hast given
Health and a joyous heart; my praise to heaven.
SUMMER SCENES.
II. Evening.
Calm is the evening. Not a ripple stirs
The crystal waters of yon limpid stream,
That blushes deep beneath the last bright ray
The sun has left at parting, and which throws
A lovely radiance round. Not e'en the breeze
Ruffles a moment one pure tranquil wave,
But breathes soft whisp'ring music through the woods,
Bending the flowers on the mossy shores,
And graceful willows o'er the silent brooks,
To bathe in coolness there. Afar the hills
Are glowing in the sunshine; while below
O'er the low valley gentle evening casts
Her veil of pensive shades. I love this hour
Of melancholy calmness, for my heart
Hath sympathy from nature. Oh, I feel
No more my spirit's loneliness; no more
I sigh for draughts to fill the longing mind,
The bosom's emptiness. My spirit soars,
And seems to roam 'mid nature's loveliness,
And in her beauties and her stillness finds
Mysterious happiness. The gentle air,
Laden with odour from the sylvan groves,
Breathes bliss around me, and its low sweet voice
Seems the soft whisperings of joy to soothe
The weary heart; and softly peace descends,
Lulls to repose the ruffl'd waves of grief,
Casts to oblivion every earthly thought,
Making fair nature's solitudes appear
Fraught with some bliss of heaven, for we feel
The presence of Jehovah! His power is seen,
His works proclaim him, and his voice is heard
In nature's harmonies.
The crystal waters of yon limpid stream,
That blushes deep beneath the last bright ray
The sun has left at parting, and which throws
A lovely radiance round. Not e'en the breeze
Ruffles a moment one pure tranquil wave,
But breathes soft whisp'ring music through the woods,
Bending the flowers on the mossy shores,
And graceful willows o'er the silent brooks,
To bathe in coolness there. Afar the hills
Are glowing in the sunshine; while below
O'er the low valley gentle evening casts
Her veil of pensive shades. I love this hour
Of melancholy calmness, for my heart
Hath sympathy from nature. Oh, I feel
No more my spirit's loneliness; no more
I sigh for draughts to fill the longing mind,
The bosom's emptiness. My spirit soars,
And seems to roam 'mid nature's loveliness,
And in her beauties and her stillness finds
Mysterious happiness. The gentle air,
Laden with odour from the sylvan groves,
Breathes bliss around me, and its low sweet voice
Seems the soft whisperings of joy to soothe
The weary heart; and softly peace descends,
Lulls to repose the ruffl'd waves of grief,
Casts to oblivion every earthly thought,
Making fair nature's solitudes appear
Fraught with some bliss of heaven, for we feel
The presence of Jehovah! His power is seen,
His works proclaim him, and his voice is heard
In nature's harmonies.