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PROSPECTIVE SUMMER.
Passed the boundary dividing spring from the domain
of summer, and, upon our senses gliding, steals the
breath of the new comer — gentle Deity of Flowers,
in whose genial warmth outspringing, from a myriad
chosen bowers, floral sweets abroad are winging.
Where the crystal brook is brawling through the summer
woodland shadow, and the bob-o'-link is calling
from his home within the meadow; where the dark
ravines are dimly, coolly with our memory pleading,
and remembered shadows grimly through our heated
minds are speeding; where the tall pines, dark and
solemn, murmur constantly their story, and the crag,
in mighty column, stands in monumental glory; where
the sweet birds' songs are gushing from the bushes by
the river, and the little waves are rushing, and the
leaves with music quiver; where the trout in cool, still
places wait the tempting bait to swallow; where the
winding path one traces, with delighted foot to follow;
where the cascade white and foaming o'er the rocks in
glee is leaping, and the lake where perch are roaming, or
big pickerel are sleeping; where kind hearts and pleasant
voices all combine to mark the hour, where the
gentle heart rejoices in the summer's sovereign power;
— all stand beckoning to us, beckoning, coaxing us to
leave the town, leave our books and money reckoning,
memory speedy of fierce flies and fierce mosquitos, for
our sacrifice most greedy, putting on our comfort vetos;
of long walks uncompensated, thunder-showers in the
mountains, of long hours with ennui freighted, of foul
bugs in pleasant fountains. Thus our dreams in summer
weathers draw us from the city torrid, and the leaves
which memory gathers with their freshness cool our
forehead.
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