SUMMER LONGINGS. АH! my heart is weary waiting; Waiting for the pleasant rambles, Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Ah! my heart is weary waiting,- Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing to escape from study, To the summer's day. Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for their sure returning, ing, Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, All the winter lay. Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Ah! my heart is pained with throb- Throbbing for the May,- Where, in laughing and in sobbing, Ah! my heart, my heart is throb- Throbbing for the May. Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Spring goes by with wasted warnings; Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings, Summer comes, yet dark and dreary Man is ever weary, weary, But thoughts of slaughter past, and blood-stained fields, Mar not the joys that gorgeous banquet yields; Sparkles in cups of gold rich Cyprian wine, Melts the Greek fig, the grapes of And fruit from climes e'en Greeks have failed to reach Hot Indian Isles, to Scythia's mountain snows, Each luscious orb on plates of crystal glows. Hark! in the gilded gallery, flute and lyre! Strains soft as sighs of streaming love respire; Then harp and sackbut bolder notes ring out, Like victory's pæan o'er some army's rout. And thus they revel; mirth and joy control The sterner thoughts, the high aspiring soul; And e'en the slaves, in sumptuous garments dressed, Forget their toils to see their lords so blessed. But what young beauty leans beside the king, With form so graceful, air so lan-To guishing? While other maids are glittering down that hall, A moon mid earth's sweet stars, she dims them all. Her mask is off, unveiled her radiant head, A lovelier veil those flower-bound tresses spread; A spangled zone her Grecian robe confines, Bright on her breast a costly diamond shines, But oh, more bright, that eye's en trancing ray Melts where it falls, and steals the soul away! lowly wind-flowers gaudier plants eclipse. lips. And pensile harebells with their dewy There turns the heliotrope to court the sun, And up green stalks the starry jasmines run: The hyacinth in tender pink outvies Beauty's soft cheek, and violets match her eyes; Sweet breathe the henna flowers that harem girls So love to twine among their glossy curls; And here the purple pansy springs to birth, Like some gay insect rising from the earth. |