Imatges de pàgina
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SUMMER WINDS.

The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need to drink),
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
So filled that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy sun (and one would guess
By's drunken fiery face no less),

Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done,
The moon and stars drink up the sun :
They drink and dance by their own light;
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature 's sober found,
But an eternal "health" goes round.
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high—
Fill all the glasses there; for why
Should every creature drink but I;
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

ANACREON. (Greek.)

Translation of ABRAHAM COWLEY.

THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN.

THE midges dance aboon the burn;

The dews begin to fa';

The pairtricks down the rushy holm
Set up their e'ening ca'.

Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang
Rings through the briery shaw,
While flitting gay, the swallows play
Around the castle wa'.

Beneath the golden gloamin' sky

The mavis mends her lay;

The red-breast pours his sweetest strains,
To charm the ling'ring day;
While weary yeldrins seem to wail
Their little nestlings torn,
The merry wren, frae den to den,
Gaes jinking through the thorn.

The roses fauld their silken leaves,
The foxglove shuts its bell;
The honey-suckle and the birk

Spread fragrance through the dell.
Let others crowd the giddy court
Of mirth and revelry,

The simple joys that Nature yields Are dearer far to me.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

SONG OF THE SUMMER WINDS.

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.

By the grassy-fringed river,

Through the murmuring reeds we sweep Mid the lily-leaves we quiver,

To their very hearts we creep.

Now the maiden rose is blushing
At the frolic things we say,
While aside her cheek 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 heath 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.

There of idlenesses dreaming,

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

79

GEORGE DARLET

THE WANDERING WIND.

THE Wind, the wandering Wind
Of the golden summer eves-
Whence is the thrilling magic

Of its tones amongst the leaves?
Oh! is it from the waters,

Or, from the long tall grass? Or is it from the hollow rocks

Through which its breathings pass?

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O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Beside a pumice isle in Baia's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers,

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter Quivering within the waves' intenser day,

fleeing

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark, wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and
low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her ciarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds, like flocks, to feed in air)

With living hues and odors, plain and hill:

Wild spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, O hear!

II.

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet the sense faints picturing them! Thou

For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while, far be

low,

The sea-blooms, and the oozy woods which

wear

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!

IV.

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ;-If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;

Thou, on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's A wave to pant beneath thy power and share

commotion,

Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed.

The impulse of thy strength-only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be

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