No. III.—NOONDAY.
Lo! like an eastern king,
Forth marches Sunshine gorgeously through earth,
By health attended, and life-giving mirth,
And heralded by Spring.
Light through the untrack'd air,
Pursues its course authentic; hill and dale
Rejoice, and Nature cries, "All hail!"
As if a king were there.
The elevated lawns,
Where first the day comes, and where last retires,
Rejoicing seem; their light the mind inspires,
And thought, like morning, dawns.
The wild, yet artless breeze,
Now, in the ear of Nature, sings its song,
Wandering green fields and flowery banks among,
And over shadowy seas.
Soft falls the sunlight down
On the old castle that, above the dell,
Stands in its glory, lone, as if to tell
Some tale of past renown.
The hamlet in the vale,
The church beside the stream that winds remote
Among the hills—the smoothly-going boat,
That midway hoists its sail.
A scene like this is rife
With pleasurable feelings, as with grace;
Perhaps we here, instructively, may trace
Some simile of life!
The grey and steadfast hills
Tell of the old immortals of past time:
And, looking downward, beauty, in its prime,
The heart with rapture fills.
The care-escaping deer
Descend together from the uplands, while
The sprouting grass puts forth a pleasant smile,
As if to tempt them near.
The sinless flowers, away
In the far inward forest paths bestrown,
Are yet not solitary, though alone;
None are so glad as they.
The comely violets
Their leaf-buds open, and the sunshine seek;
The pastures fresh their grateful homage speak,
Untinctured with regrets.
The virgin rose assumes
A bridal bearing, as if noonday came,
With brighter countenance, its love to claim,
And revel 'midst its blooms:
The prattle of the brook,
The lazy clouds that, hung in middle sky,
Exulting in the balm, float listless by,
Reflecting back their look:
The buds, the herbs, the leaves,
Each, and all things that blossom, bless the rays
Of the bright sun, and, as they bless, they praise
The bounteous Hand that gives!