SUMMER. 



" Sometimes walking, not unseen, 

 By hedge row elms and hillocks green, 

 Right against the eastern gate, 

 Where the sun begins his state ; 

 Robed in flames, and amber light, 

 The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 

 While the ploughman, near at hand, 

 Whistles o'er the furrowed land, j 

 And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 

 And. the mower whets his scythe; 

 And every shepherd tells his tale 

 Under the hawthorn in the dale.** 



"From branch to branch the smaller birds with songs, 

 Solace the woods, and spread their painted wings 

 Till even.'* 



" Now at the close of this soft summer's day, 

 Reclined upon the river's flowery side, 

 I pause to see the sportive fishes play, 

 And cut with finny oars the sparkling tide. 

 Silent and still is all creation round ; 

 The rustic melodies of warblers cease, 

 A mantling vapour broods along the ground, 

 And all the elements are hushed to peace." 



