A Summer Recollection

'Tis pleasant—when the nights are long And days are drear and chill, And hail and sleet are driving fast In downward desperate will, Or when the choking mists around A gloomy influence shed, When miry ways are underfoot, And drizzling rain o'erhead, When hardened faces, graceless forms, Are hurrying all about; (The coarser of the human clay That Nature fashions out), When voices rude, in rattling street, Are sounds the chiefest heard, When one would almost “give one's ears” To hear a singing bird,— 'Tis pleasant then to wander back Into the summer time, And cull a bright and cherished flower From Memory's richest prime; To bid a sudden sunshine come Where all before was gloom, To say unto a barren heart, “Here shall a garden bloom!” To open a remembrance sweet, Like casket rich and rare, Fresh from the aromatic East, To extacize the air;— 'Tis pleasant?—Come and listen then, While March winds muster strong, To the loveliest summer memory That ever lighted Song! I see the grove of Limes, on a sunny summer's day, 'Tis stealing from their silky leaves the honey-dew away, But the perfume of their tufty tassels clings to them around, And there's play-room for their shadows on the un-molested ground. The cream-white cow is dozing on her yielding bed of grass, And the pony from the paddock-rail looks welcome as you pass, And rooks and jays, from far-aways, come flocking now and then, While peeping from her nested home is watching them the wren. I see the acacia, myriad-leaved, and tall as it would rise To the undivided azure of the pure and steadfast skies; And the elms, in their rich quietude, their mystic depths of green, That give the distant mournful firs scarce room for being seen. Let us pass within the gate where the loving ivy clings, And round about in graceful wreaths its changeless verdure flings, To the porch where oftentime in the dewy April weather, The blackbird and the brier try a match of sweets together. For there, at daybreak until eve, this jetty dove will sing 'Neath the rosy-budded honeysuckle, opening to the spring, And when autumn finds it mute, she munificently lends Convolvulus and clematis for rich and sweet amends. Pause! ere your footsteps try The narrow boundary That shuts the world without and all its folly! As those who seek a shrine Where dwells a saint divine Themselves first dedicate from fountain holy, To consecrate thy mind: For Her whom thou wilt find Summon thy whitest wingèd thoughts t' attend her, Angelic tho' they be Yet loftier were She To show what seraphs are, the Heavens but lend her. A wondrous alchemy Hath power within her eye, There in its lustrous depths for ever burning; All dross beneath her sight Is changed to living light, The dark unto the bright for ever turning. She speaks! List to the flow, So tender-voiced and low, Of eloquent thoughts that with the air are blending; They seem to disenthral From out the body's wall The prisoned soul, and speed its upward tending. Each music-breathing tone Her voice hath made its own, The fountains overflow—the eyelids glisten— While as the rising strain Sinks thro' th' enchanted brain The very stars seem drawing near to listen. The sunbeams love to come And play within her home, And lay upon her clustering hair their blessing; The pleasant breezes woo her, Like friends they whisper to her, The flowers look up to greet her touch caressing. Treasures of Art are there In forms and faces fair, All wistful to enjoy her hands meet placing, Where light and shadow come As in their parent home— Her gracious welcome still their charms out-gracing. Oft have we heard of cells Where old magicians' spells Conjured unseemly shapes and phantoms dreary, While sounds of noxious things Whizzing on baleful wings Flitted about with mischief never weary; Here, every sight and sound A magic sheds around In forms all beautiful, that o'er us hover; Each bearing as a dower Some bright ideal flower To form a wreath wherewith the mind to cover. A lovely band they come! “Kilmeny”—(from her home Unearthly wanderer)—an amaranth bringeth, And Ariel while he sings A shower of sweetness flings From cowslip bells,—as on his way he wingeth. Egeria calm is there With olive-garland fair Bless'd by Minerva for her sake, and thine— Folded herself within She listens to her twin Teaching to man such laws as make divine. And She whose lyric word Did “magnify the Lord” That He had bless'd her chiefest of her race, Strips from her blossomed wand A lily for thy hand, Her pure deep eyes yet resting on thy face. And when at eventime Thou murmurest an old rhyme To lull the o'erwrought nerves to charmèd quiet; Soothing to downy rest The poor toil-wearied breast Vex'd by the outer world's malicious riot; Sweet airs come one by one To learn thy gentle tone And grateful scatter perfume o'er thy numbers, While sleep stands waiting near A willing slave to bear A wreath of poppies for the tired one's slumbers. Night comes!—She seeks her rest. Peace, fold her to thy breast! And loveliest dreams unto her sleep be given: The blessing she has brought Into her soul be wrought! On Earth there is no purer, brighter Heaven!