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50

FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER.

Is it for want of sleep;

Or childish lullabie?

Or, that

ye have not seen as yet

The violet?

Or brought a kisse

From that sweetheart to this?

No, no; this sorrow, shown

By your teares shed,

Would have this lecture read,

"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,

Conceived with grief are, and with teares brought

forth."

HERRICK.

FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER.

BUT when mild Morn, in saffron stole,

First issues from her eastern goal,

Let not my due feet fail to climb
Some breezy summit's brow sublime,
Whence Nature's universal face
Illumined smiles with new-born grace;
The misty streams that wind below,
With silver-sparkling lustre glow;

FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER.

The groves and castled cliffs appear
Invested all in radiance clear;

O! every village charm beneath!

The smoke that mounts in azure wreath.
O beauteous rural interchange!
The simple spire, and elmy grange!
Content, indulging blissful hours,
Whistles o'er the fragrant flowers,
And cattle, roused to pasture new,
Shake jocund from their sides the dew.
'Tis thou alone, O Summer mild,
Canst bid me carol wood-notes wild:
Whene'er I view thy genial scenes,
Thy waving woods, embroidered greens,
What fires within my bosom wake,
How glows my mind the reed to take!
What charms like thine the muse can call,

With whom 'tis youth and laughter all ;
With whom each field's a paradise,

And all the globe a bower of bliss!
With thee conversing all the day,
I meditate my lightsome lay.
These pedant cloisters let me leave,
To breathe my votive song at eve

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52

FIELD SPORTS.

In valleys where mild whispers use,

Of shade and stream to court the muse,

While wandering o'er the brook's dim verge,
I hear the stock dove's dying dirge.

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NEXT will I sing the valiant falcon's fame;
Aërial fights, where no confederate brute
Joins in the bloody fray; but bird with bird
Jousts in mid air. Lo! at his siege the hern,
Upon the bank of some small purling brook,
Observant stands to take his scaly prize,
Himself another's game. For mark behind
The wily falconer creeps: his grazing horse
Conceals the treacherous foe, and on his fist
Th' unhooded falcon sits: with eager eyes.
She meditates her prey, and, in her wild
Conceit, already plumes the dying bird.
Up springs the hern, redoubling every stroke,
Conscious of danger, stretches far away
With busy pennons and projected beak,

FIELD SPORTS.

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Piercing th' opponent clouds: the falcon swift
Follows at speed, mounts as he mounts, for hope
Gives vigor to her wings. Another soon

Strains after to support the bold attack,

Perhaps a third.
a third. As in some winding creek,

On proud Iberia's shore, the corsairs sly
Lurk waiting to surprise a British sail,
Full freighted from Hetruria's friendly ports,
Or rich Byzantium; after her they scud,
Dashing the spumy waves with equal oars,

And spreading all their shrouds; she makes the

main

Inviting every gale, nor yet forgets

To clear her deck, and tell th' insulting foe,

In peals of thunder, Britons cannot fear;

So flies the hern pursued, but fighting flies.
Warm grows the conflict, every nerve's employed;
Now through the yielding element they soar
Aspiring high, then sink at once, and rove
In trackless mazes through the troubled sky.
No rest, no peace. The falcon hovering flies
Balanced in air, and confidently bold

Hangs o'er him like a cloud, then aims her blow

Full at his destined head. The watchful hern

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FIELD SPORTS.

Shoots from her like a blazing meteor swift
That gilds the night, eludes her talons keen
And pointed beak, and gains a length of way.
Observe th' attentive crowd; all hearts are fixed
On this important war, and pleasing hope.
Glows in each breast. The vulgar and the great,
Equally happy now, with freedom share
The common joy. The shepherd-boy forgets
His bleating care; the laboring hind lets fall
His grain unsown; in transport lost, he robs
Th' expecting furrow, and in wild amaze

The gazing village point their eyes to heaven.
Where is the tongue can speak the falconer's cares,
"Twixt hopes and fears, as in a tempest tost?
His fluttering heart, his varying cheeks confess
His inward woe. Now like a wearied stag,
That stands at bay, the hern provokes their rage;
Close by his languid wing, in downy plumes
Covers his fatal beak, and cautious hides
The well-dissembled fraud. The falcon darts
Like lightning from above, and in her breast
Receives the latent death: down plump she falls
Bounding from earth, and with her trickling gore
Defiles her gaudy plumage. See, alas!

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