Summer Storm.
James Russell Lowell.
[Abbreviated for Concert Recitation.]
[The following selection is peculiarly effective for concert recitation on account of the great number and variety of vocal changes. The italicized words should be given with abrupt, explosive sounds; the italicized final consonants with extreme distinctness of articulation; the pauses indicated by dashes should be exaggerated, and the time most accurately marked.]
Suddenly—all the sky is hid
As with the shutting of a lid.
One—by—one—great—drops—are falling,
Doubtful—and—slow.
Down the pane they are crookedly crawling,
And the wind—breathes low.
Now—on the hills—I hear the thunder-mutter,
The wind—is gathering in the west.
The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter
Then droop—to a fitful rest.
Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh,
And tramples the grass with terrified feet.
The startled river turns leaden and harsh,
You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat.
Look, look! that livid flash!
And instantly follows the rattling thunder
As if some cloud-crag—split asunder—
Fell—splintering with a ruinous crash.
Against the windows, the storm comes dashing;
Through tattered foliage, the hail—tears crashing;
The blue lightning—flashes,
The rapid hail clashes,
The white waves are tumbling,
And in one baffled roar,
The thunder—is rumbling—
And crashing and crumbling.
(Whisper) Hush! Still as death
The tempest—holds his breath—
As from a sudden will.
The rain—stops—short—but from the eaves
You see it drop and hear it—on the leaves,
(Half-whisper) All—is—so—still.
Gone—gone—so soon!
The pale and quiet moon
Makes her calm forehead bare.
No more my half-crazed fancy there.
Can shape—a giant—in the air,
And the last fragments of the storm,
Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea,
Silent and few—are drifting over me.