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THEN came the jolly summer, being dight
In a thin silken cassock coloured green,
That was unlined all, to be more light,
And on his head a garland well beseene
He wore, from which, as he had chaffed been,
The sweat did drop, and in his hand he bore
A bow and shafts, as he in forest green
Had hunted late the libbard or the boar,
And now would bathe his limbs, with labour heated sore.


From bright'ning fields of ether, fair disclos'd,
Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes;
In pride of youth, and felt thro' nature's depth,
He comes, attended by the sultry hours,
And ever-fanning breezes on his way.


The Spring's gay promise melted into thee,
Fair Summer! and thy gentle reign is here;
Thy emerald robes are on each leafy tree;

In the blue sky thy voice is rich and clear;
And the free brooks have songs to bless thy reign-
They leap in music 'midst thy bright domain.
Willis G. Clark.
Summer! delicious Summer! thou dost fling
Thy unbought treasures o'er the glorious earth!
Music is in thy step, and in thine eye
A flood of sunshine! on thy brow is wreathed
Garlands that wither not, and in thy breath
Are all the perfumes of Arabia!

Thou wilt not frown, tho' I have pluck'd unseen One little blossom from thy golden hair.-H. G. Bell.

Thou art bearing hence thy roses,
Glad Summer, fare thee well!
Thou art singing thy last melodies
In every wood and dell.

Brightly, sweet Summer, brightly,
Thine hours have floated by,
To the joyous birds of the woodland boughs,
To the rangers of the sky.

Mrs. Hemans.

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As half in shade and half in sun

This world along its path advances,
May that sweet side the sun's upon
Be all that ever meets thy glances.

Howell, from Horace.

When the crab's fierce constellation
Burns with beams of brightest sun,
Then he that will go out and sow
Shall never reap where he did plough,
But, instead of corn, may rather
(The old world's diet) acorns gather.

H. Vaughan.

The sun makes music as of old
Amid the rival spheres of heaven;
On its predestined circle roll'd

With thunder speed: the angels even
Draw strength from gazing on its glance,
Though none its meaning fathom may:-
The world's unwither'd countenance

Is bright as at creation's day.

Goethe, (translated by Shelley.)

Yet once again I greet thee, thou fair sun!
And now I look upon thy golden orb,
And in anticipation feel my soul

Partake thy essence, and inhale thy beams!
To me this earthly strife is as the night

And death the morn from which, as from the grave,
The sun of immortality shall rise.


Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
A joy thou art, and a wealth to all!
A bearer of hope unto land and sea:
Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee?

Sunbeam of summer! oh, what is like thee?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea!-
One thing is like thee to mortals given,
The faith touching all things with hues of Heaven.

Mrs. Hemans.



If ye know

Why ask ye, and superfluous begin
Your message like to end so much in vain?


His conscience cheered him with a life well spent,
His prudence a superfluous something lent,
Which made the poor who took, and poor who gave,




ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication;



ONE adequate support
For the calamities of mortal life
Exists-one only; an assured belief
That the procession of our fate, however
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being
Of infinite benevolence and power;
Whose everlasting purposes embrace
All accidents, converting them to good.



Ianthe! thou art called to cross the sea!
A path forbidden me.
Remember while the sun his blessing sheds
Upon the mountain heads,

How often we have watcht him laying down
His brow, and dropt our own
Against each other's, and how faint and short
And sliding the support!

W. S. Landor.




WHO knows,


Let this be good, whether our angry
Can give it, or will ever? How he can,
Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure.

The youngest in the morning are not sure
That till the night their life can be secure.

The mountain rill
Seeks with no surer flow the far, bright sea,
Than my unchang'd affections flow to thee.

The deepest ice that ever froze
Can only o'er the surface close;
The living stream lies quick below,
And flows, and cannot cease to flow.



Park Benjamin.


ERRORS, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls must dive below.



As surfeit is the father of much fast,
So every scope, by the immoderate use,
Turns to restraint.

Why, disease, dost thou molest
Ladies, and of them the best?
Do not men grow sick of rites
To thy altars by their nights
Spent in surfeit?



They surfeited with honey; and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little
More than a little is by much too much.


Ben Jonson.



WITH wild surprise,

As if to marble struck, devoid of sense,
A stupid moment motionless she stood.



Were his eyes open? Yes, and his mouth too;—
Surprise has this effect, to make one dumb,
Yet leave the gate, which eloquence slips through,
As wide as if a long speech were to come.



TEN days the prophet in suspense remained,
Would no man's fate pronounce; at length constrained
By Ithacus, he solemnly designed
Me for the sacrifice.


For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
A cool suspense, from pleasure or from pain.-Pope.

But be not long, for in the tedious minutes,
Exquisite interval, I'm on the rack;
For sure the greatest evil man can know,
Bears no proportion to this dread suspense.



SUSPICION ever haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.-Shakspere.

Suspicion is a heavy armour, and

With its own weight impedes, more than it protects. Byron.

And shall we all condemn, and all distrust,
Because some men are false, and some unjust?
Forbid it, Heaven! for better 't were to be
Duped of the fond impossibility
Of light and radiance which sleep's visions gave,
Than thus to live suspicion's bitter slave.

Mrs. Norton.

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