83
A SUMMER EVENING.
It was a bright and cheerful afternoon,
Towards the end of the sunny month of June,
When the north wind congregates in crowds
The floating mountains of the silver clouds
From the horizon—and the stainless sky
Opens beyond them, like eternity.
All things rejoiced beneath the sun—the weeds,
The river, and the corn-fields, and the reeds;
The willow-leaves, that glanced in the light breeze,
And the firm foliage of the larger trees.
Shelley.
Nay, we'll have music; let that sweet breath, at least,
Give us her airy welcome.
Beaumont and Fletcher.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Shakspeare.
And at the last, the bird began to sing
So passing swetely, that, by many fold,
It was more plesaunt than I couth devise:
And whan his song was endid in this wise,
The nightingale, with so mery a note
Answerid him, that alle the wode yrong
So sodainly, that, as it were a sote,
I stode astonied, and was with the song
Thorow ravishid; that, till late and long,
I ne wist in what place I was, ne where,
And ayen, methought, she song even by mine ere.
Chaucer.
Oh! leave the dull dim house, and come with me
Down to the rivers brink; and we will go
Floating in our light boat so silently,
Watching the sunset-tinged clouds, that glow
