SONG OF THE SUMMER BREEZE.

When balmy spring Has ceased to wring The youthful bud from the old oak tree, And the sweet primrose No longer glows On the glad hill-side by the sunfilled sea; When the Cuckoo's wail Has ceased to go O'er hill and dale In a pensive flow, And the deepest shade In the woods is made, And the brightest bloom on the fields is laid; When the lord of light With a lover's pride Pours a beauty bright O'er his blushing bride, That lies below His glowing gaze, In a woodland glow, and a flowery blaze; When winter's gloom Of wind and rain Is lost in the bloom Of the flower-lit plain, And his ruins grey Have died away In the love-sent breath of the smiling day; When the beauteous hours Of the twilight still With dewy tears in their joy-swelled eyes See the peaceful flowers On the cloudless hill Send scented gifts to the grateful skies; And the wave-like grain O'er the sea-like plain In peaceful splendour essays to rise;— From my silent birth in the flowery land Of the sunny south At time's command. As still as the breath of a rosy mouth, Or rippling wave on the sighing sand, Or surging grass by the stony strand, I come with odour of shrub and flower Stolen from field and sunny bower From lowly cot and lordly tower. Borne on my wings the soul-like cloud— That snowy, mountain-shading shroud That loves to sleep On the sweet hill's crest, As still as the deep With its voice at rest,— Is wafted in dreams to its peaceful nest; At my command The glowing land Scorched by the beams of the burning sun, Listing the sounds of the drowsy bees, Thirsting for rain, and the dews that come When light has died on the surging seas, Awakes to life, and health, and joy; I pour a life on the sickening trees, And wake the birds to their sweet employ, Amidst the flowers of the lowly leas; From the sweet woodbine That loves to twine Its arms of love round the homes of men, Or laugh in the sight Of the sun's sweet light 'Midst the flower gemmed scenes of the song-filled glen, And the full-blown rose that loves to blush 'Midst the garden bowers Where the pensive hours Awaiting the bliss of the summer showers List to the songs of the warbling thrush,— I steal the sweets of their fragrant breath; From the lily pale That seems to wail With snow-like face And pensive grace O'er the bed that bends o'er the deeds of death, I brush the tears That she loves to shed For the early biers Of the lovely dead. When still twilight with dew-dimmed eye Sees the lord of light from the snow-white sky, Descend at the sight Of the coming night, 'Midst the waves of the deathful sea to die! When glowing day Has passed away In peace on the tops of the dim-seen hills, That pour from their hearts the tinkling rills That dance and leap In youthful pride, To the brimming river, deep and wide, That bears them in rest to their distant sleep; And the gladsome ocean That ever presses The bridal earth in fond caresses, Rages no more in a wild commotion; When the distant hills appear to grow At the touch of evening bright, And the sunless rivers seem to go With a deeper music in their flow, Like dreams thro' the peaceful night, I fade away With the dying day, Like the lingering gleam of the sun's sweet ray!