fiUMMER ON THK DESEBT. 1^ 



SUMMER ON THE GREAT AMERICAN DBSEET. 



Ye dreary plains, that round me lie, 



So parch'd witli summer's heat, 

 No more ye please my wand'ring eye. 

 Or woo my weary feet 



Why hath the spring your beauty bonw 



Into his hiding place, 

 And left the widow'd winds to monra 



The charms tliey would embrace 7 



Why should those flowers, whose honeyed breith 



With incense filled the breeze, 

 Drooping and wither'd, lie in death, 



And now no longer please ? 



That grassy carpet, green and wide, 



Why turn'd to stiibble now ? 

 Save 'chance along some streamlet's side, 



Where less'ning waters flow ! 



And why those gently murm'ring rills, 



Whose soft melodious strains 

 Were wont to echo 'mong the hills. 



No longer reach the plains ? 



The lark no longer meets the mom,— 



Nor hnnet pours his throat, — 

 Nor feather'd warbler hails the dawn 



With his sweet, mellow note ; — 



Nor even insect cheers the scene. 



Where Solitude alone, 

 In wither'd garb, as Desert Queen, 



Rears her eternal throne ! 



Thtjse thirsty plains, with open month, 



Implore the gentle shower ; 

 But vainly plead, while summer's drouth 



In schorching heat doth pour ! 



Nor grateful shade, of spreading tree. 



Invites my feet to rest ; 

 Nor cooling stream, in melody, 



Attempts my quicken'd zest. 



So dismal all ! why should I stay 



And sicken by their view ? 

 Thrice gladly will I tuni away. 



And bid these scenes adieu t 



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