MDCCCXLVIII-IX.
O torrid August—sun-emblazoned asp!
Reluctantly thy days, like coils, unclasp
And leave the worn and heat-enfeebled frame
Its wonted strength in cooler hours to gain.
O months with ruin fraught! O years of fate!
What stars malign o’er you predominate!
The seals of death are broke—the wide earth moans,
A lazar-house of pain through all her zones.