258 ON VISITING THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF BOXHILL. 



Or on the scented turf to lie 

 And watch the meteor birds flit by ; — 

 The friends that from some other clime 

 Have come, to share our summer time ; — 



And see the insects crawl, or fly 

 Like spirits to their native sky ; 

 Th' embodied sense of joy they seem, 

 When dancing in the solar beam. 



O 'tis a sense surpassing ease. 

 To feel the kiss o' the cooling breeze ; 

 That like a spirit of love is sent, 

 From heav'n to earth with th' intent. 



That it might with its gentle wing, 

 Refresh and fan each weary thing ; 

 For if the meanest feel a pain, 

 There's balm to give it health again. 



It 's whisp'ring now, thro' yonder grove, 

 To every flower its tale of love ; 

 Each, as it passes, looks more bright, 

 And all are trembling with delight. 



It wooes the rose, whose fragrant breath 

 Defies the mighty pow'r of death ; 

 And wand'ring on thro' blooming fields. 

 Receives the tribute each fiow'r yields. 



The Sun, that long on earth and ocean 

 Has gaz'd with an intense devotion — 

 To whom again earth has confess'd 

 The glowing feelings of her breast, — 



Now, like a lover, when each sense 

 Is satiate with joy intense, 

 He gently sinks down to his rest, 

 On downy clouds far in the west. 



And Night being envious that the day 

 Had held so long o'er earth its sway. 

 Then hastens onward, and lets fall 

 Her sable mantle over all. 



