Summer Studies. I.
By James Barron Hope
The cock hath crow'd. I hear the doors unbarr'd;
Down to the moss-grown porch my way I take,
And hear, beside the well within the yard,
Full many an ancient, quacking, splashing drake,
And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen - all
Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call.
The dew is thick upon the velvet grass -
The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops,
And as the cattle from th' enclosure pass,
Each one, alternate, slowly halts and crops
The tall, green spears, with all their dewy load,
Which grow beside the well-known pasture-road.
A lustrous polish is on all the leaves -
The birds flit in and out with varied notes -
The noisy swallows twitter 'neath the eaves -
A partridge-whistle thro' the garden floats,
While yonder gaudy peacock harshly cries,
As red and gold flush all the eastern skies.
Up comes the sun: thro' the dense leaves a spot
Of splendid light drinks up the dew; the breeze
Which late made leafy music dies; the day grows hot,
And slumbrous sounds come from marauding bees:
The burnish'd river like a sword-blade shines,
Save where 'tis shadow'd by the solemn pines.