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And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
Go-but the circle of eternal change,
Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and sense from all thy mighty
range, Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore; And, listening to the murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 48 1830.
William Cullen Bryant.
THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE
The midges dance aboon the burn;
The dews begin to fa’;
Set up their e'ening ca'.
Rings through the briery shaw,
Around the castle wa'..
Beneath the golden gloamin' sky
The mavis mends her lay;
To charm the lingering day;
Their little nestlings torn,
Gaes jinking through the thorn.
The roses fauld their silken leaves,
The foxglove shuts its bell; The honeysuckle and the birk
Spread fragrance through the dell.
Of mirth and revelry,
Are dearer far to me. 1807?
I WILL not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
Whom, therefore, I will shun:
The violet is a nun;-
The queen of every one.
The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand;
The wolfsbane I should dread; Nor will I dreary rosemarye,
That always mourns the dead; But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.
The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me;
She is of such low degree;
And the broom 's betrothed to the bee ;-
For fairest of all is she. 1827.
A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours
To himself he talks;
In the walks ;
Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks
Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
The air is damp, and hush'd, and close,
An hour before death;
And the breath
Of the fading edges of box beneath,
Over its grave i’ the earth so chilly ;
“SUMMER is coming, summer is coming.
I know it, I know it, I know it. Light again, leaf again, life again, love again,"
Yes, my wild little Poet.
Sing the new year in under the blue.
Last year you sang it as gladly. “New, new, new, new!” Is it then so new
That you should carol so madly?
“ Love again, song again, nest again, young
“Here again, here, here, here, happy year!”
O warble unchidden, unbidden ! Summer is coming, is coming, my dear,
And all the winters are hidden. 1889.
Hark! ah, the nightingale-
O wanderer from a Grecian hore,
Dost thou to-night behold,