The Land of Song Volume Ii Part 4

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

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THE SUMMER SHOWER.

Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain, As when the strong storm wind is reaping the plain; And loiters the boy in the briery lane; But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain, Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall.

Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet, It dashes the dust with its numberless feet.

Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat, The wild birds sit listening, the drops round them beat; And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.

The swallows alone take the storm on their wing, And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing; Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring, While a bubble darts up from each widening ring; And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall.

But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves; The robin darts out from his bower of leaves; The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves; And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD.

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

O WAD SOME POWER.

O Wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursel's as others see us!

It wad frae mony a blunder free us An' foolish notion; What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n devotion!

ROBERT BURNS.

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SPRING.

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring; Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day; And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit; In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

Spring! the sweet spring!

THOMAS NASH.

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THE SKYLARK.

Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and c.u.mberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place-- Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

Emblem of happiness, Best is thy dwelling-place-- Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

JAMES HOGG.

TO THE CUCKOO.

O Blithe newcomer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice.

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?

While I am lying on the gra.s.s Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pa.s.s, At once far off and near!

Though babbling only to the vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the spring!

Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my schoolboy days I listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky.