Part 30 (1/2)

XLIX INDIAN SUMMER[J]

SAMUEL LOVER--1797-1868

When suloith richer dyes, A softer charm beyond them lies-- It is the Indian summer

Ere winter's snows and winter's breeze Bereave of beauty all the trees, The bal renewal sees In the sweet Indian summer

And thus, dear love, if early years Have drown'd the gerleam of hope appears-- Just like the Indian sue descend, O trust htly end-- Just like the Indian summer

FOOTNOTES:

[J] The brief period which succeeds the autumnal close, called the ”Indian Summer,”--a reflex, as it were, of the early portion of the year--strikes a stranger in America as peculiarly beautiful, and quite charmed me--LOVER

L TO HELEN[K]

JULY 7, 1839

WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED--1802-1839

Dearest, I did not dreaht tear shi+ne, Caught your clear whisper, exquisitely low, And felt your soft hand tremble into mine,

That in so brief--so very brief a space, He, who in love both clouds and cheers our life, Would lay on you, so full of light, joy, grace, The darker, sadder duties of the wife,-- Doubts, fears, and frequent toil, and constant care For this poor frame, by sickness sore bested; The daily tendance on the fractious chair, The nightly vigil by the feverish bed

Yet not unwelcoladsoth of these weak hands, light of these dim eyes, In sickness, as in health,--bless you, My Own!

FOOTNOTES:

[K] Praed died on the 15th of July

LI HORATIUS[L]

A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX

LORD MACAULAY--1800-1859

Lars Porsena of Clusiureat house of Tarquin should suffer wrong no more

By the Nine Gods he swore it, and naers ride forth, east and west and south and north, To summon his array

East and west and south and north the e have heard the truers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium is on the march for Ro in amain From many a stately market-place; from many a fruitful plain; From many a lonely has on the crest of purple Apennine; From lordly Volaterrae, where scowls the far-fas of old; Froirt Populonia, whose sentinels descry Sardinia's snowythe southern sky; From the proud mart of Pisae, queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia's triremes heavy with fair-hair'd slaves; Froh corn and vines and flowers; From where Cortona lifts to heaven her diadem of towers

Tall are the oaks whose acorns drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that chahs of the Ciminian hill; Beyond all streams clitumnus is to the herdsreat Volsinian mere

But now no stroke of woodreen path up the Cirazes the milk-white steer; Unharm'd the waterfowl may dip in the Volsinian mere

The harvests of Arretiu boys in U sheep; And in the vats of Luna, this year, the irls whose sires have march'd to Rome

There be thirty chosen prophets, the wisest of the land, Who alway by Lars Porsena bothand morn the Thirty have turn'd the verses o'er, Traced frohty seers of yore

And with one voice the Thirty have their glad answer given: ”Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; go forth, belov'd of heaven