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A SUMMER RAMBLE.
THE quiet August noon has come,
A slumberous silence fills the sky, The fields are still, the woods are dumb, In glassy sleep the waters lie.
And mark yon soft white clouds that rest Above our vale, a moveless throng; The cattle on the mountain's breast Enjoy the grateful shadow long.
Oh, how unlike those merry hours
In early June when Earth laughs out, When the fresh winds make love to flowers, And woodlands sing and waters shout.
When in the grass sweet voices talk,
And strains of tiny music swell
But now a joy too deep for sound,
A peace no other season knows, Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground, The blessing of supreme repose.
Away! I will not be, to-day,
The only slave of toil and care. Away from desk and dust! away! I'll be as idle as the air.
Beneath the open sky abroad,
Among the plants and breathing things, The sinless, peaceful works of God,
I'll share the calm the season brings.
Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see
The gentle meanings of thy heart, One day amid the woods with me,
From men and all their cares apart.
And where, upon the meadow's breast,
Come, and when mid the calm profound,
Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade,
The village trees their summits rear
As chiselled from the lifeless rock.
One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooksThere the hushed winds their sabbath keep While a near hum from bees and brooks Comes faintly like the breath of sleep.
Well may the gazer deem that when,
Worn with the struggle and the strife, And heart-sick at the wrongs of men, The good forsakes the scene of life;
Like this deep quiet that, awhile,
A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON.
COOL shades and dews are round my way,
And silence of the early day;
Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed,
From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall;
The music of the Sabbath bells.
All, save this little nook of land
Through which the white clouds come and go,
Loveliest of lovely things are they,
The rose that lives its little hour
River! in this still hour thou hast