RAIN IN SUMMER. 123 In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighbouring school Come the boys, With more than their wonted noise And commotion; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, Till the treacherous pool Engulfs them in its whirling And turbulent ocean. In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand; Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, The clover-scented gale, And the vapours that arise From the well-watered and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil Their large and lustrous eyes Seem to thank the Lord, More than man's spoken word. EARLY MORNING IN SUMMER. 125 EARLY MORNING IN SUMMER. It was a lovely morning;-all was calm, By Hope and Resignation reconciled, That morning's beauty shone, that landscape's charm beguiled. The heavens were marked by many a filmy streak, And every gentle sound which broke the hush A JULY EVENING. elet now, no longer vexed with gusts, es on her breast the pictured moon d round with stars. How strangely fair yon round still star, which looks half suffering from, And half rejoicing in its own strong fire, Making itself a lonelihood of light, Like Deity, where'er in Heaven it dwells. How can the beauty of material things So win the heart and work upon the mind, Unless like-natured with them? Are great things They have like effect, for mind And matter speak, in causes, of one God. The glory of the world Is on all hands. In one encircling ken Mountain, and wood, and wild, and fire-tipped hill, 127 |