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Meekly the flower-spirits hold
The rain god, sweeping through the sky,
Curving upon the brim !
How poor Etruscan skill,
Or urn with sculptured rim!
SCENE AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER.
The rain is o’er. — How dense and bright
Yon pearly clouds reposing lie! Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight,
Contrasting with the dark blue sky! In grateful silence earth receives
The general blessing; fresh and fair,
Each flower expands its little leaves,
As glad the common joy to share.
A fairy light, uncertain, pale ;
Is breathing odors on the gale.
Methinks some spirit of the air
Then turn to bathe and revel there. The sun breaks forth ;—from off the scene
Its floating veil of mist is flung; And all the wilderness of green
With trembling drops of light is hung. Now gaze on Nature,—yet the same
Glowing with life, by breezes fanned, Luxuriant, lovely, as she came
Fresh in her youth from God's own hand. Hear the rich music of that voice,
Which sounds from all, below, above; She calls her children to rejoice,
And round them throws her arms of love. Drink in her influence; - low-born care,
NORTON. APRIL DAY.
All day the low-hung clouds have dropt
Their garnered fullness down;
Hill, valley, grove and town.
To break the calm of nature ;
Of life or living creature ;
Or cattle faintly lowing: -
The leaves and blossoms growing.
The rain's continuous sound;
Down straight into the ground.
Earth's naked breast to screen, Though every dripping branch is set
With shoots of tender green. Sure, since I looked at early morn,
Those honeysuckle buds Have swelled to double growth; that thorn
Hath put forth larger studs.
That lilac's cleaving cones have burst,
Methinks their sweets are stealing.
The very earth, the steamy air,
Down, down they come- -those fruitful stores! Those earth-rejoicing drops!
A momentary deluge pours,
Then thins, decreases, stops.
And ere the dimples on the stream
Lo! from the west, a parting gleam
HYMN TO THE MOON.
REFULGENT pilgrim of the sky,
Beneath thy march, within thy sight, What varied realms outstretching lie!
Here landscape rich with glory bright; There lonely wastes of utter blight; The nightingale, upon the bough
Of cypress, here her song is pouring
And there, begirt with mounts of snow,
For food the famished bear is roaming.
What marvel that the spirits high
Of eastern climes and ancient days, Should hail thee as a deity,
And altars to thine honor raise !
So lovely wert thou to the gaze Of shepherds on Chaldean hills,
When summer flowers around were springing, And when to thee a thousand rills
Throughout the quiet night were singing.
And lo! the dwarfish Laplander,
Far from his solitary home, Dismayed beholds the evening star,
While many a mile remains to roam ;
Thou lightest up the eastern dome, And, in his deer-drawn chariot, he
Is hurled along the icy river ; And leaps his sunken heart to see
The light in his own casement quiver.
Nor beautiful the less art thou,
When ocean's gentlest breezes fan, With gelid wing, the feverish glow
That daylight sheds on Hindostan.
There, on the glittering haunts of man, And on the amaranthine bowers,
The glory of thy smile reposes ;