17 Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, 18 The cricket, too, how sharp he sings, 19 Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, 20 Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws, 21 Through the clear streams the fishes rise, 22 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. 23 The glow-worms, numerous and light, 24 Illumed the dewy dell last night, 25 At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 26 Hopping and crawling o'er the green, 27 The whirling dust the wind obeys, 28 And in the rapid eddy plays; 29 The frog has changed his yellow vest, 30 And in a russet coat is dressed, 31 Though June, the air is cold and still, 32 The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill 33 My dog, so altered in his taste, 34 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast; 35 And see yon rooks, how odd their flight, 36 They imitate the gliding kite, 37 And seem precipitate to fall, 38 As if they felt the piercing ball. 39 'T will surely rain; I see with sorrow, 40 Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

;

Down the pane they are crookedly crawling,
And the wind breathes low;

Slowly the circles widen on the river,
Widen and mingle, one and all;
Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver,

Struck by an icy rain-drop's fall.

Now on the hills I hear the thunder mutter,

The wind is gathering in the west;
The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter,
Then droop to a fitful rest;
Up from the stream with sluggish flap
Struggles the gull and floats away;
Nearer and nearer rolls the thunder-clap,

We shall not see the sun go down to-day:
Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh,

And tramples the grass with terrified feet, The startled river turns leaden and harsh, You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat.

Look! look! that livid flash!

And instantly follows the rattling thunder, As if some cloud-crag, split asunder,

Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash,

Followed by silence dead and dull, As if the cloud, let go,

Leapt bodily below

To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow, And then a total lull.

Gone, gone, so soon!

No more my half-crazed fancy there
Can shape a giant in the air,
No more I see his streaming hair,
The writhing portent of his form ; —
The pale and quiet moon

Makes her calm forehead bare,
And the last fragments of the storm,
Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea,
Silent and few, are drifting over me.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

A SUMMER EVENING.

How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun! How lovely and joyful the course that he run,

And now a solid gray wall of rain Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile;

For a breath's space I see the blue wood again, And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile, That seemed but now a league aloof,

Bursts crackling o'er the sun-parched roof; Against the windows the storm comes dashing, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes, The white waves are tumbling, And, in one baffled roar, Like the toothless sea mumbling A rock-bristled shore, The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling, Will silence return nevermore?

Hush! Still as death,

-

The tempest holds his breath
As from a sudden will;

The rain stops short, but from the eaves
You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves,
All is so bodingly still;
Again, now, now, again
Plashes the rain in heavy gouts,

The crinkled lightning
Seems ever brightening,
And loud and long
Again the thunder shouts

His battle-song,
One quivering flash,
One wildering crash,

And there followed some droppings of rain! But now the fair traveller's come to the west, He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best :

And foretells a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian; his course he begins, Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins, And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines,

And travels his heavenly way:

But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array.

ISAAC WATTS.

MOONLIGHT IN SUMMER.

Low on the utmost boundary of the sight,
The rising vapors catch the silver light;
Thence fancy measures, as they parting fly,
Which first will throw its shadow on the eye,
Passing the source of light; and thence away,
Succeeded quick by brighter still than they.
For yet above these wafted clouds are seen
(In a remoter sky still more serene)
Others, detached in ranges through the air,
Spotless as snow, and countless as they 're fair;
Scattered immensely wide from east to west,
The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest.
These, to the raptured mind, aloud proclaim
Their mighty Shepherd's everlasting name;