196 BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 



pearls in the chalices of the blossoms are exhaled to the skies ; and 

 the sparrows chirp and chatter, and hurry to and fro ; and the un- 

 resting swallow darts hastily over field and river, making the havoc 

 of death among the swarms of insects which spread their powdery 

 wings in the fierce heat of the morning sun. Towards noon, the 

 open land gets covered with that clear trembling vapour which the 

 Scripture describes as "the clear heat upon herbs," and which quivers 

 and dances in the sunshine, till the eye is blinded by gazing on it. 

 At noonday, the heat is so intense, that the very winds are weak, and 

 not a leaf stirs ; the birds are silent, and the air seems made of 

 molten sunbeams, hovering above the earth, and parching every herb, 

 and absorbing, as with insatiate thirst,* every rill and water-brook. 

 When the fervour of the noonday heat begins to subside, the air 

 again becomes busy with the whirring sound of wings, and we hear 

 sweet music in the air, like those joyous songs sung by the Rhodian 

 children in the times of old. There are fresh swarms of flies sunning 

 themselves in the broad light, or making giddy circles under shady 

 boughs ; having so little care for anything but sport, that it would 

 seem they were expecting to live for ever ; but they die in their con- 

 ceit ere nightfall. So lives and loves each herb and creature of the 

 earth ; and man, renovated and born into a new life, grows and 

 expands as do the leaf-buds and the flowers, in the light and glory of 

 the gushing summer. 



" Was nought around but images of rest, 



Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between, 



And flowery beds that slumbrous influence cast, 

 From poppies breathed ; and beds of pleasant green, 

 Where never yet was creeping creature seen. 



Meantime unnumbered glittering streamlets played, 

 And hurled everywhere their water sheen, 



That as they bickered through the sunny glade, 



Though restless, still themselves a lulling murmur made. 



" Joined to the prattle of the purling rills, 



Were heard the lowing herds along the vale. 

 And flocks loud-bleating from the distant hills, 



And vacant shepherds piping in the dale ; 



And now and then sweet Philomel would wail, 

 Or stockdoves plain amid the forest deep, 



That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale ; 

 And still a coil the grasshopper did keep, 

 Yet all these mingled sounds inclined unto sleep." — THOMSoy. 



