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 glowworms, 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, 39 T will surely rain; I see with sorrow, DR. EDWARD JENNER. SUMMER MOODS. I LOVE at eventide to walk alone, Down narrow glens, o'erhung with dewy thorn, In vain, for flowers that bloomed but newly there; While in the juicy corn the hidden quail Cries, "Wet my foot"; and, hid as thoughts unborn, The fairy-like and seldom-seen land-rail RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, Like a river down the gutter roars The sick man from his chamber looks He can feel the cool Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighboring school With more than their wonted noise And commotion; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, Till the treacherous pool Ingulfs them in its whirling And turbulent ocean. In the country, on every side, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, To the dry grass and the drier grain In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand; The clover-scented gale, From the well-watered and smoking soil. Seem to thank the Lord, Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees, His pastures, and his fields of grain, As they bend their tops To the numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain. He counts it as no sin That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain. These, and far more than these, The Poet sees! He can behold Aquarius old Walking the fenceless fields of air; |