JULY.

Scarcely a whisper stirs the summer leaves,

Or bends the whitening barley; sultry-fierce,

The July sunshine beats upon the sward,

The brown-parched sward, whose scorching grass-blades thirst

For the life-giving rain!

The fuchsias droop;

The full-blown roses drop their withering leaves;

The thrush sits mute upon the apple-bough;

A drowsy silence, an unnatural calm,

Pervades the face of nature!

In the fields,

The cattle idly lie beside the hedge,

Seeking for shelter from the sweltering heat;

The blackbird, tenant of the farmhouse porch,

Listless and dumb, sits in his wicker cage;

The house-dog, curled, lies blinking in the sun,

Careless of passing tramps.

Hark! What is that?

A threatening rumble, muttered, sullen, low,

In the far-distant sky; a thunder-peal,

Telling of welcome rain!

Anon the drops,

The thick big drops, in quick succession fall

Upon the parching earth: the flowers revive;

The house-dog rises; and the cattle crowd

Beneath the meadow trees; a gentle breeze

Springs up, and rustles through the barley-ears;

The sultry air is cooled: the fresh earth owns

The power beneficent of healing rain!

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.