SUMMER-CHEMISTRY.

The back of an upland pasture steep,
With delicate fern-beds notching wide
The dark wood-line, where the birches keep
Candlemas all the summer-tide;

The crags and the ledges silver-chased
Where yesterday's rainy runlets raced;
Brown-flashing across the meadows bright
The stream that gems their malachite;
And, watching his valley, Chocorua grim!
And a golden sunset watching him!

Add fifty lives of young and old,
Of tired and sad, of strong and bold,
And every heart a deeper sea
Than its own owner dreams can be ;
Add eyes whose glances have the law
Of coursing planets in their draw ;

Add careless hands that touch and part,

And hands that greet with a heaven's sense;
Add little children in their glee
Uprunning to a mother's knee,
Their earliest altar; add her heart,
Their feeble, brooding Providence :-

Add this to that, and thou shalt see
What goes to summer-chemistry,---
What the God takes

Each time he makes

One summer-day at Ossipee.

119

W. C. Gannett.

A

SUMMER.

ROUND 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 shores with many a shining rift
Far-off their pearl-white peaks uplift.
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.

I watch the mowers as they go

Through the tall grass, 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, when summer breezes break,
The green wheat crinkles like a lake.

The butterfly and bumble-bee
Come to the pleasant woods with me;

EXTRA MUROS.

Quickly before me runs the quail,
Her chickens skulk behind the rail,
High up the lone wood-pigeon sits,
And the woodpecker 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 blue-bird trims his coat,
Two tiny feathers fall and float.

As silently, as tenderly,

The down of peace descends on me.
O this is peace! I have no need
Of friend to talk, or 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.

N°

121

7. T. Trowbridge.

EXTRA MUROS.

OT unremembered here the garish stage, Nor the wild city's uproar, nor the race For gain and power in which we all engage ;

But here remembered dimly in a dream,

As something fretful that hath ceased to fret-
Here, where time lapses like a gentle stream
Hid in the woodland's heart, and I forget

To note its music and its silver gleam.

But never, never let me cease to know,

O whispering woods and daisy-sprinkled grass, The beauty and the peace that you bestow, When the wild fevers of ambition pass, And the worn spirit, in its gloom and grief, Sinks on your bosom, and there finds relief. William Winter.

WH

VACATION.

'HEN did we go to the Michigan woods?
I only know

That the air was sweet with the low white clover,
And the honey bee, the wild free rover,

Had never far to go.

How long did we stay in the Michigan woods?

I only know

That the fire-weed flamed crimson higher and higher Till only one blossom crowned the spire,

While below, the seeds lay side by side,

Ready to fly out far and wide

As the winds might chance to blow.

How long did we stay in the Michigan woods?
I only know

That the elder-blossoms grew white, then brown,
Then the scarlet berries hung heavily down,

Over the green below.

FROM THE "LOTOS EATERS."

123

How long did we stay in the Michigan woods?

I only know

That the thistle flung open his armor green

Till his purple silken vest was seen,

Then changed to a fairy in gossamer grace
That brushed with her silvery robes my face,
As she floated high and low.

When did we leave the Michigan woods?
I only know

That clusters of asters purple and white,
And the golden-rod like a flash of light,
Had set all the roads aglow.

When did we leave the Michigan woods?
I can only say

That the yellow poplars trembled over

Where the weary bee hunted in vain for clover
The morning we came away.

Anna C. Brackett.

FROM THE "LOTOS-EATERS."

N the afternoon they came unto a land

IN

In which it seemèd always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; And, like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.