 | The British Months |  |
July abundant in flowers. Singing of birds subsiding. Supposed causes of their silence. Songs suspended till autumn. The Missel Thrush soon silent. Hedge Chanter, Greenbird, Chaffinch. Blackcap, Redstart, Whitethroat. The Nightingale. Shortness of his stay. Lark and Thrush, why more valuable
I said that June perchance might vie
With May in rich variety
Of novel blossoms, with delight
That paint the fields, and charm the sight.
With many a novel blossom more,
Less copious, yet not small the store,
If duly scann'd will bright July
Reward the investigating eye.
Not so, to charm the listening ears,
Will nature's tuneful choristers
Fresh strains supply of rapture new:
And, as the month glides on, but few
With transport less alert sustain
The musick of their earlier strain.
With May in rich variety
Of novel blossoms, with delight
That paint the fields, and charm the sight.
With many a novel blossom more,
Less copious, yet not small the store,
If duly scann'd will bright July
Reward the investigating eye.
Not so, to charm the listening ears,
Will nature's tuneful choristers
Fresh strains supply of rapture new:
And, as the month glides on, but few
With transport less alert sustain
The musick of their earlier strain.
What causes indistinct commence
To check the general confluence
Of voices from the feather'd throng,
Which swell'd the vernal tide of song?
To check the general confluence
Of voices from the feather'd throng,
Which swell'd the vernal tide of song?
Is it, the quickening breath of Spring,
When all the world is revelling
As with new life, has lost its power,
Supplanted by the summer hour,
Which sinks in languor and in rest
The efforts of each buoyant breast?
Is it, the kindling flame of love
Has ceas'd to answering warmth to move
The ardent tribes, that now no more
Against a rival's song they pour
The torrent of ambitious pride,
Or courtship for the destin'd bride?
Is it, no more, in all the height
And fulness of the heart's delight,
The brooding mate calls forth at hand
Sounds of kind thought and passion bland,
To cheer her wearisome employ,
And tell his own exuberant joy?
When all the world is revelling
As with new life, has lost its power,
Supplanted by the summer hour,
Which sinks in languor and in rest
The efforts of each buoyant breast?
Is it, the kindling flame of love
Has ceas'd to answering warmth to move
The ardent tribes, that now no more
Against a rival's song they pour
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Or courtship for the destin'd bride?
Is it, no more, in all the height
And fulness of the heart's delight,
The brooding mate calls forth at hand
Sounds of kind thought and passion bland,
To cheer her wearisome employ,
And tell his own exuberant joy?
Whate'er we deem the immediate cause,
Which gives effect to nature's laws,
And with the season brings along
The times of silence and of song;
Full many a voice, which made to ring
With ecstasy the groves of spring,
Its part in that bright concert ends;
Or through the midmost year suspends,
Till the calm autumn's milder day
Again awake the slumbering lay.
Which gives effect to nature's laws,
And with the season brings along
The times of silence and of song;
Full many a voice, which made to ring
With ecstasy the groves of spring,
Its part in that bright concert ends;
Or through the midmost year suspends,
Till the calm autumn's milder day
Again awake the slumbering lay.
Long since the Missel ceas'd his song;
Scarce one among the vernal throng;
Apt with his stirring call to cheer
The dulness of the infant year,
But soon apart and mute he dwells,
Nor e'er the general concert swells.
Scarce one among the vernal throng;
Apt with his stirring call to cheer
The dulness of the infant year,
But soon apart and mute he dwells,
Nor e'er the general concert swells.
But like the Missel, many a bird,
Long 'mid the general concert heard,
Now ere July be well begun,
Or when his middle course is run.
The musick of the groves and fields
To more enduring songsters yields.
Long 'mid the general concert heard,
Now ere July be well begun,
Or when his middle course is run.
The musick of the groves and fields
To more enduring songsters yields.
Mute soon the Chanter of the hedge:
And he, who paints with yellow edge
His pinion's olive plumage green,
Though now he break the silent scene
With sharp quick trill, to July's end
Will scarce that sharp quick trill extend.
More prompt has ceas'd his carol light
The Chaffinch, with bright bars of white
Crossing his wings of velvet black:
And, thinking of their southward track,
The pilgrim gray with sable head;
And he with tail and bosom red;
And he, who on the wing his note
Pours restless from his silvery throat.
And where is he, sweet Philomel,
With rise and fall, and trill and swell,
Melodious? He the advancing year
Forbears with strain prolong'd to cheer,
And leaves with June the evening wood
To silence as to solitude.
And he, who paints with yellow edge
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Though now he break the silent scene
With sharp quick trill, to July's end
Will scarce that sharp quick trill extend.
More prompt has ceas'd his carol light
The Chaffinch, with bright bars of white
Crossing his wings of velvet black:
And, thinking of their southward track,
The pilgrim gray with sable head;
And he with tail and bosom red;
And he, who on the wing his note
Pours restless from his silvery throat.
And where is he, sweet Philomel,
With rise and fall, and trill and swell,
Melodious? He the advancing year
Forbears with strain prolong'd to cheer,
And leaves with June the evening wood
To silence as to solitude.
Unrivall'd by the general vote
Is Philomel's melodious note:
And favouring accidents agree
To add to that sweet melody,
By dint of rareness, time, and place,
A zest and adventitious grace.
But brief is Philomela's stay,
A few short weeks: that liquid lay
Nor earliest spring delights to hear,
Nor dwells it on midsummer's ear.
Like meteors in the evening sky,
That charm with transient glance the eye,
Bright visions in yon vaulted scene,
But short their times, and far between.
Is Philomel's melodious note:
And favouring accidents agree
To add to that sweet melody,
By dint of rareness, time, and place,
A zest and adventitious grace.
But brief is Philomela's stay,
A few short weeks: that liquid lay
Nor earliest spring delights to hear,
Nor dwells it on midsummer's ear.
Like meteors in the evening sky,
That charm with transient glance the eye,
Bright visions in yon vaulted scene,
But short their times, and far between.
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And so, with more delight I greet,
More welcome inmates, if less sweet,
The merry Lark and Throstle gay:
Not only of the dawning day,
But heralds of the dawning year;
Who their rathe lay in winter's rear
Sing blithe, and all the springtide long,
And scarce suspend the summer song:
Or, if suspended for a while,
Reviv'd by autumn's milder smile
The stream of harmony resume:
Now and again midwinter's gloom
Enlivening, till the brisker strain
Proclaim the opening year again.
Kind friends at hand, like friends indeed,
To aid us in our hour of need;
And sure not dearly for their aid
With food, and house, and home repaid!
More welcome inmates, if less sweet,
The merry Lark and Throstle gay:
Not only of the dawning day,
But heralds of the dawning year;
Who their rathe lay in winter's rear
Sing blithe, and all the springtide long,
And scarce suspend the summer song:
Or, if suspended for a while,
Reviv'd by autumn's milder smile
The stream of harmony resume:
Now and again midwinter's gloom
Enlivening, till the brisker strain
Proclaim the opening year again.
Kind friends at hand, like friends indeed,
To aid us in our hour of need;
And sure not dearly for their aid
With food, and house, and home repaid!
| The British Months | |