 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
NOON.
Now the fierce coursers of the sultry day
Breath from their nostrils the meridian ray;
Beneath such heat the landscape faints around;
The birds forget to sing, the woods to sound;
The withered rose forgets perfumes to yield,
And murmuring brooks mourn o'er the drooping field.
Breath from their nostrils the meridian ray;
Beneath such heat the landscape faints around;
The birds forget to sing, the woods to sound;
The withered rose forgets perfumes to yield,
And murmuring brooks mourn o'er the drooping field.
The sprightly lambs, which in the morning played,
And near a fount their fleecy form surveyed,
On the green tuft, the limpid stream o'erflows,
Subdued by heat, their weary limbs repose.
And near a fount their fleecy form surveyed,
On the green tuft, the limpid stream o'erflows,
Subdued by heat, their weary limbs repose.
The sweating ploughman leaves his sultry toil,
To quench his thirst from crystal streams, that boil
O'er the rough pebbles, which incessant chide,
As o'er the fields they in meanders glide.
To quench his thirst from crystal streams, that boil
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As o'er the fields they in meanders glide.
The love-sick swain now leaves his drooping flock,
And seeks retreat beneath some shelving rock,
Which Spring's fair hand, with fairest flowers, has graced;
Here he retires the heat of day to waste.
And seeks retreat beneath some shelving rock,
Which Spring's fair hand, with fairest flowers, has graced;
Here he retires the heat of day to waste.
All Nature droops; no joy the meadow yields:
How languid is the green, which graced the fields!
But see, Maria comes, by zephyrs fanned;
See how the gales the enlivening flowers expand.
Spontaneous roses in her footsteps spring;
The fields revive, the cheerful warblers sing;
The drooping forest now the lyre resumes,
In fair Maria's praise each landscape blooms;
Now tears of joy array the smiling lawn,
And soaring larks would fondly think, 'twas morn.
How languid is the green, which graced the fields!
But see, Maria comes, by zephyrs fanned;
See how the gales the enlivening flowers expand.
Spontaneous roses in her footsteps spring;
The fields revive, the cheerful warblers sing;
The drooping forest now the lyre resumes,
In fair Maria's praise each landscape blooms;
Now tears of joy array the smiling lawn,
And soaring larks would fondly think, 'twas morn.
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |