SCENE AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER.

BY A. NORTON.

THE rain is o'er. How dense and bright
Yon pearly clouds reposing lie!
Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight,
Contrasting with the dark blue sky.

In grateful silence, earth receives

The general blessing; fresh and fair,
Each flower expands its little leaves,
As glad the common joy to share.

The softened sunbeams pour around
A fairy light, uncertain, pale;

The wind flows cool; the scented ground
Is breathing odours on the gale.

Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile,

Methinks some spirit of the air

Might rest to gaze below awhile,

Then turn to bathe and revel there.

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SCENE AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER.

The sun breaks forth; from off the scene
Its floating veil of mist is flung;
And all the wilderness of green

With trembling drops of light is hung.

Now gaze on Nature-yet the same-
Glowing with life, by breezes fanned,
Luxuriant, lovely, as she came,

Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand.

Hear the rich music of that voice,

Which sounds from all below, above;

She calls her children to rejoice,

And round them throws her arms of love.

Drink in her influence; low-born care,

And all the train of mean desire,

Refuse to breathe this holy air,

And 'mid this living light expire.

COME, hoist the sail, the fast let go!
They're seated side by side;
Wave chases wave in pleasant flow:
The bay is fair and wide.

The ripples lightly tap the boat.

Loose!-Give her to the wind!

She shoots ahead:-They're all afloat: The strand is far behind.

J

The boat goes tilting on the waves;

The waves go tilting by;

There dips the duck;-her back she laves;

O'er head the sea-gulls fly.

Now, like the gulls that dart for prey,

The little vessel stoops;

Now rising, shoots along her way,

Like them, in easy swoops.

The sun-light falling on her sheet,

It glitters like the drift

THE PLEASURE BOAT.

Sparkling in scorn of summer's heat,
High up some mountain rift.

The winds are fresh; she's driving fast

Upon the bending tide,

The crinkling sail, and crinkling mast,

Go with her side by side.

Why dies the breeze away so soon?
Why hangs the pennant down?
The sea is glass; the sun at noon.—
-Nay, lady, do not frown;

She smiles; thou needst must smile on her.
And, see, beside her face

A rich, white cloud that doth not stir.-
What beauty, and what grace!

And pictured beach of yellow sand,
And peaked rock, and hill,

Change the smooth sea to fairy land.

How lovely and how still!

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