SUMMER WINDS. The sea itself (which one would think Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done, 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 Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang Beneath the golden gloamin' sky The mavis mends her lay; The red-breast pours his sweetest strains, The roses fauld their silken leaves, Spread fragrance through the dell. 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 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, 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 its tones amongst the leaves? Or, from the long tall grass? Or is it from the hollow rocks Through which its breathings pass? 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, Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter Quivering within the waves' intenser day, fleeing Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Each like a corpse within its grave, until 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 |