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Where shepherd youths and maids in secret bowers,

In song and feast unite
In joyful band, to pass the sultry hours

Of their siesta light.
The sturdy hunter, bathed in moisture well,

Beneath an oak-tree's boughs,
Beside his faithful dog, his sentinel,

Now yields him to repose.
All, all is calm, is silent. O how sweet,

On this enameled ground,
At ease recumbent, from its flowery seat,

To cast your eyes around!
The busy bee, that round your listening ear

Murmurs with drowsy hum;
The faithful turtles, perched on oak-trees near,

Moaning their mates' sad doom.
And ever in the distance her sweet song

Murmurs lorn Philomel;
While the hoar forest's echoing glades prolong

Her love and music well.
And ’midst the grass slow creeps the rivulet,

In whose bright limpid stream
The blue sky and the world of boughs are met,

Mirrored in one bright gleam.
And of the elm the hoar and silvery leaves,

The slumbering winds scarce blow,
Which, pictured in the bright and tremulous waves,

Follow their motion slow.

These airy mountains, and this fragrant seat,

Bright with a thousand flowers ;
These interwoven forests, where the heat

Is tempered in their bowers !

The dark umbrageous woods, the dense array

Of trunks, through which there peers
Perchance the town, which, in the glow of day,

Like crystal light appears !
These cooling grottoes! O retirement blest!

Within thy calm abode
My mind alone can from her troubles rest,

With solitude and God.

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Thou giv'st me life, and liberty, and love,

And all I now admire,
And from the winter of my soul dost move

The deep enthusiast fire.

O bounteous Nature, 'tis thy healing womb

Alone can peace procure!
Thither all ye, the weary, laden, come,

From storms of life secure.
Anonymous Translation.

JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES, 1754-1517.

SUMMER DREAM.

FROM THE GERMAN MINNESINGERS.

'Twas summer ; through the spring grass

The joyous flowers upsprang;
The birds in all their different tribes

Loud in the woodlands sang:
Then forth I went, and wandered far

The wide, green meadow o'er-
Where cool and clear the fountain play'd-

There strayed I in that hour.

Roaming on, the nightingale

Sang sweetly in my ear;
And by the greenwood's shady side,

A dream came to me there.
Fast by the fountain, where bright flowers

Of sparkling hue we see;
Close sheltered from the summer heat,

That vision came to me.

All care was banished, and repose

Came o'er my wearied breast;
And kingdoms seemed to wait on me,

For I was with the blest.

Yet while it seemed as if away,

My spirit soared on high,
And in the boundless joys of heaven

Was rapp'd in ecstasy ;
E'en then my body revel'd still

In earth's festivity;
And surely never was a dream

So sweet as this to me.

Thus I dreamed on, and might have dwelt

Still on that rapturous dream,
When hark! a raven's luckless note-

(Sooth 'twas a direful scream !)
Broke up the vision of delight.

Instant my joy was past ;
O had a stone but met my hand,

That hour had been his last !
Translation of E. TAYLOR. WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE, about 1150.

SUMMER.
The spring's gay promise melted into thee,

Fair summer! and thy gentle reign is here;
The emerald robes are on each leafy tree;

In the blue sky thy voice is rich and clear ;
And the free brooks have songs to bless thy reign-
They leap in music midst thy bright domain.
The gales that wander from the unclouded west

Are burden'd with the breath of countless fields ;
They teem with incense from the green earth's breast,

That up to heaven its grateful odor yields,
Bearing sweet hymns of praise from many a bird,
By nature's aspect into rapture stirr’d.
In such a scene the sun-illumin'd heart

Bounds like a prisoner in his narrow cell,
When through its bars the morning glories dart,

And forest anthems in his hearing swell;
And like the heaving of the voiceful sea,
His panting bosom labors to be free.
Thus, gazing on thy void and sapphire sky,

O summer! in my inmost soul arise
Uplifted thoughts, to which the woods reply,

And the bland air with its soft melodies ;
Till basking in some vision's glorious ray,
I long for eagle's plumes to flee away.
I long to cast this cumbrous clay aside,

And the impure, unholy thoughts that cling
To the sad bosom, torn with care and pride ;

I would soar upward, on unfetter'd wing,
Far through the chambers of the peaceful skies,
Where the high fount of summer brightness lies!

WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, 1910-1941.

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