Around this lovely valley rise The purple hills of Paradise.

O, softly on yon banks of haze Her rosy face the Summer lays!

Becalmed along the azure sky, The argosies of Cloudland lie, Whose sh.o.r.es, with many a shining rift, Far off their pearl-white peaks uplift.

II.

Through all the long midsummer day The meadow-sides are sweet with hay.

I seek the coolest sheltered seat, Just where the field and forest meet,-- Where grow the pine trees tall and bland, The ancient oaks austere and grand, And fringy roots and pebbles fret The ripples of the rivulet.

III.

I watch the mowers, as they go Through the tall gra.s.s a white-sleeved row.

With even stroke their scythes they swing, In tune their merry whetstones ring.

Behind, the nimble youngsters run, And toss the thick swaths in the sun.

The cattle graze, while, warm and still, Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill, And bright, where summer breezes break, The green wheat crinkles like a lake.

IV.

The b.u.t.terfly and humble bee Come to the pleasant woods with me; Quickly before me runs the quail, Her chickens skulk behind the rail; High up the lone wood-pigeon sits, And the woodp.e.c.k.e.r pecks and flits, Sweet woodland music sinks and swells, The brooklet rings its tinkling bells, The swarming insects drone and hum, The partridge beats his throbbing drum, The squirrel leaps among the boughs, And chatters in his leafy house, The oriole flashes by; and, look!

Into the mirror of the brook, Where the vain bluebird trims his coat, Two tiny feathers fall and float.

V.

As silently, as tenderly, The down of peace descends on me.

O, this is peace! I have no need Of friend to talk, of book to read.

A dear Companion here abides; Close to my thrilling heart He hides; The holy silence is His voice: I lie and listen and rejoice.

J. T. TROWBRIDGE

THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES.

I.

That way look, my Infant, lo!

What a pretty baby-show!

See the Kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Withered leaves--one--two--and three-- From the lofty elder-tree!

II.

Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Slowly, slowly: one might think, From the motions that are made, Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or Faery hither tending,-- To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute, In his wavering parachute.

III.

--But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!

First at one, and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow; There are many now--now one-- Now they stop and there are none.

What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire!

IV.

With a tiger-leap half-way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again: Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjurer; Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart.

V.

Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd?

Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure!

VI.

Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,-- Spreads with such a living grace O'er my little Dora's face; Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even as ye do, thoughtless pair!

And I will have my careless season Spite of melancholy reason, Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Now and then I may possess Hours of perfect gladsomeness.

VII.

--Pleased by any random toy; By a kitten's busy joy, Or an infant's laughing eye Sharing in the ecstasy; I would fare like that or this, Find my wisdom in my bliss; Keep the sprightly soul awake, And have faculties to take, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Matter for a jocund thought, Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

SUMMER STORM.

I.

Untremulous in the river clear, Toward the sky's image, hangs the imaged bridge; So still the air that I can hear The slender clarion of the unseen midge; Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep, Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases, Now lulls, now swells, and all the while increases, The huddling trample of a drove of sheep Tilts the loose planks, and then as gradually ceases In dust on the other side; life's emblem deep, A confused noise between two silences, Finding at last in dust precarious peace.

II.

On the wide marsh the purple-blossomed gra.s.ses Soak up the sunshine; sleeps the br.i.m.m.i.n.g tide, Save when the wedge-shaped wake in silence pa.s.ses Of some slow water-rat, whose sinuous glide Wavers the long green sedge's shade from side to side; But up the west, like a rock-shivered surge, Climbs a great cloud edged with sun-whitened spray; Huge whirls of foam boil toppling o'er its verge, And falling still it seems, and yet it climbs alway.

III.

Suddenly all the sky is hid As with the shutting of a lid, One by one great drops are falling Doubtful and slow, 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.

IV.

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 gra.s.s with terrified feet, The startled river turns leaden and harsh.

You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat.

V.

Look! look! that livid flash!

And instantly follows the rattling thunder, As if some cloud-crag, split asunder, Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash, On the Earth, which crouches in silence under; And now a solid gray wall of rain Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile; For a breath's s.p.a.ce 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 sh.o.r.e, The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling,-- Will silence return never more?

VI.

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, 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.

VII.