Part 2 — JULY.

Scarcely a whisper stirs the summer leaves, Or bends the whitening barley; sultry-fierce, The July sunshine beats upon the sward, The brown-parched sward, whose scorching grass-blades thirst For the life-giving rain! The fuchsias droop; The full-blown roses drop their withering leaves; The thrush sits mute upon the apple-bough; A drowsy silence, an unnatural calm, Pervades the face of nature! In the fields, The cattle idly lie beside the hedge, Seeking for shelter from the sweltering heat; The blackbird, tenant of the farmhouse porch, Listless and dumb, sits in his wicker cage; The house-dog, curled, lies blinking in the sun, Careless of passing tramps. Hark! What is that? A threatening rumble, muttered, sullen, low, In the far-distant sky; a thunder-peal, Telling of welcome rain! Anon the drops, The thick big drops, in quick succession fall Upon the parching earth: the flowers revive; The house-dog rises; and the cattle crowd Beneath the meadow trees; a gentle breeze Springs up, and rustles through the barley-ears; The sultry air is cooled: the fresh earth owns The power beneficent of healing rain!