MORNING IN SUMMER. Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, That falls through the clear ether silently. KEATS. 69 MORNING IN SUMMER. AND soon, observant of approaching day, White break the clouds away. With quickened step, The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine; And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps, awkward: while along the forest glade The wild deer trip, and, often turning, gaze At early passenger. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, High-gleaming from afar. THOMSON. THE WILD BRAMBLE. THY fruit full well the school-boy knows, So, put thou forth thy small white rose; THE WILD BRAMBLE. Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow Thou need'st not be ashamed to show Thy satin-threaded flowers; For dull the eye, the heart is dull, That cannot feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are! How delicate thy gauzy frill! How rich thy branchy stem! How soft thy voice, when woods are still, But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring, In all their beauteous power, The fresh green days of life's fair spring, 71 Scorned bramble of the brake! once more To gad with thee the woodlands o'er, ELLIOTT. ✓ AN EVENING VISIT TO WINDERMERE. BEHOLD the shades of afternoon have fallen To the lake's margin, where a boat lies moored WORDSWORTH. SUNRISE ABOVE THE CLOUDS. STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. SUNRISE ABOVE THE CLOUDS. The clouds were far beneath me;-bathed in light, They gathered mid-day round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine, blasted, bare, and cleft.) The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.) I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash,— And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach.` The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out, 73 |