A SUMMER SCENE, BY CLAUDE.

How proudly those hush'd towers receive the glow

That mellows the gold sunset—and the trees,

Clasping with their deep belt the festal hills,

Are ting'd with summer-beauty; the rich waves

Swell out their hymn o'er shells and sweet blue flow'rs,

And haply the pure seamaid, wandering by,

Dips in them her soft tresses. The calm sea,

Floating in its magnificence, is seen

Like an elysian isle, whose sapphire depths

Entranc'd the Arabian poets! In the west,

The clouds blend their harmonious pageantry

With the descending sun-orb; some appear

Like Jove's immortal bird, whose eyes contain'd

An essence of its sanctity—and some

Seem like proud temples, form'd but to admit

The souls of god-like men! Emerald and gold

And pink, that softens down the aerial bow,

Are interspersed promiscuously, and form

A concentration of all lovely things!

And far off cities, glittering with the pomp

Of spire and pennon, laugh their joyance up

In the deep flood of light. Sweet comes the tone

Of the touch'd lute from yonder orange bow'rs,

And the shrill cymbal pours its elfin spell

Into the peasant's being!

A sublime

And fervid mind was his, whose pencil trac'd

The grandeur of this scene! Oh! matchless Claude!

Around the painter's mastery thou hast thrown

An halo of surpassing loveliness!

Gazing on thy proud works, we mourn the curse

Which 'reft our race of Eden, for from thee,

As from a seraph's wing, we catch the hues

That sunn'd our primal heritage ere sin

Weav'd her dark oracles. With thee, sweet Claude!

Thee! and blind Maeonides would I dwell

By streams that gush out richness; there should be

Tones that entrance, and forms more exquisite

Than throng the sculptor's visions! I would dream

Of gorgeous palaces, in whose lit halls

Repos'd the reverend magi, and my lips

Would pour their spiritual commune 'mid the hush

Of those enchanting groves!