Classic Poem

JUNE .

Hail, beauteous June! the twelvemonth's leafy prime!
Unstained as yet by summer's dust and heat;
Art may not copy from the book of time
Thy living tableau pleasing and complete.

This glorious ‘blue of June’!—the morning skies
Unchequered by a single cloudy fleece.
From wood and hill, from vale and stream arise
Incense and anthems to the Fount of Peace!

I love to con the pictures in thy book,
O, moon of leaves! all rurally displayed:
The grazing herd beside the clear, cold brook,
The green banks greener in the elmy shade;

The woody mountain, in the distance blue;
The valley where the sleeping waters shine;
The lawn, the cornfield, emerald in hue;—
All matchless limnings by a hand Divine.

There is a picture upon yonder slope,
So freshly verdant in the morning sun:
Two lambkins, types of Innocence and Hope,
O'er the bright carpet of the morning run.

How like two children in their careless play!
How heedless of the butcher, like the child!
I saw an old man looking, bowed and gray;
He looked, seemed sorrowful, and faintly smiled.

The housewife watching from the cottage door,
Sees o'er the hive the insect cloud arise;
Diffused awhile on humming wings they soar,
And kindly cluster where their monarch flies.

From underneath the bridge the phœbe starts,
Scared by the footsteps of the passer by;
Through the cool arches of the alders darts,
Or snaps on salient wings the dronish fly.

With early morn the strains of music come,
And summer's minstrels gladden all the day;
The gold-finch fifing and the cuckoo's drum,
The bob'link's demi-semi-quavered lay.

There is the sun-browned farmer at his toil,
Early afield among the springing corn;
His are the healthful labors of the soil,
The noblest calling of a freeman born.

True son of Independence! ah, how few
High sounding statesmen can thy merit claim!
They may cause wars and fightings; such as you
Save, in the battle's shock, the nation's name.