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THE LION AND GIRAFFE.

Croaking companion of their flight, the vul- | Plunging off with frantic bound

ture whirs on high;

To shake the tyrant to the ground,

Below, the terror of the fold, the panther, He shrieks-he rushes through the waste, fierce and sly,

With glaring eye and headlong haste

And hyenas foul, round graves that prowl, In vain!—the spoiler on his prize

join in the horrid race;

By the foot-prints wet with gore and sweat, their monarch's course they trace.

Rides proudly-tearing as he flies.
For life-the victim's utmost speed
Is mustered in this hour of need.
For life-for life-his giant might

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They see him on his living throne, and quake He strains, and pours his soul in flight;
with fear, the while
And mad with terror, thirst, and pain,
With claws of steel he tears piecemeal his Spurns with wild hoof the thundering plain.
cushion's painted pile.
'Tis vain; the thirsty sands are drinking
On! on! no pause, no rest, giraffe, while life His streaming blood-his strength is sinking;
and strength remain!
The victor's fangs are in his veins-
The steed by such a rider backed, may madly His flanks are streaked with sanguine stains-
plunge in vain.
His panting breast in foam and gore
Is bathed he reels-his race is o'er.

Reeling upon the desert's verge, he falls, and He falls—and, with convulsive throe,
Resigns his throat to the ravening foe'

breathes his last;
The courser, stained with dust and foam, is—And lo! ere quivering life is fled,
the rider's fell repast.
The vultures, wheeling over head,

O'er Madagascar, eastward far, a faint flush Swoop down, to watch in gaunt array,
Till the gorged tyrant quits his prey.

is descried:

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When the feelings were young, and the world | And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will

was new,

Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to

view;

All-all now forsaken-forgotten-foregone! And I-a lone exile remembered of none

In the fen where the wild ass is drinking his fill.

Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side.

My high aims abandoned,—my good acts O'er the brown karroo, where the bleating

undone

Aweary of all that is under the sun,

With that sadness of heart which no stranger

may sean,

I fly to the Desert afar from man

Afar in the Desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side.
When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life,
With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and

strife

The proud man's frown, and the base man's fear

The scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear— And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and folly,

Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy; When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high,

And my soul is sick with the bondman's sigh

cry

Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively; And the timorous quagga's shrill whistling

neigh

Is heard by the fountain at twilight gray;
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane,
With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain;
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste

Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste,
Hieing away to the home of her rest,
Where she and her mate have scooped their
nest,

Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view
In the pathless depths of the parched karroo.
Afar in the Desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side.
Away-away-in the wilderness vast,
Where the white man's foot hath never
passed,

And the quivered Coranna or Bechuan
Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan :

Oh! then there is freedom, and joy, and A region of emptiness, howling and drear, Which man hath abandoned from famine and fear;

pride,

Afar in the Desert alone to ride!

There is rapture to vault on the champing Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, With the twilight bat from the yawning

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stone;

Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root,
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot;
And the bitter-melon, for food and drink,
Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt-lake's brink;
A region of drought, where no river glides,
Nor rippling brook with osiered sides;
Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount,
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount,
Appears, to refresh the aching eye;
But the barren earth and the burning sky,
And the blank horizon, round and round,
Spread-void of living sight or sound.

And here, while the night-winds round me sigh,

And the river-horse gambols unscared in the And the stars burn bright in the midnight

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He, who hath no peer, was born,
Here, upon a red March morn;
But his famous fathers dead
Were Arabs all, and Arab bred,
And the last of that great line
Trod like one of a race divine!
And yet, he was but friend to one,
Who fed him at the set of sun,

By some lone fountain fringed with green;
With him, a roving Bedouin,

He lived, (none else would he obey
Through all the hot Arabian day,)—
And died untamed upon the sands
Where Balkh amidst the desert stands!
BARRY CORNWALL.

INVOCATION TO RAIN IN SUMMER.

O GENTLE, gentle, summer rain,
Let not the silver lily pine,
The drooping lily pine in vain

To feel that dewy touch of thine-
To drink thy freshness once again,
O gentle, gentle, summer rain!

In heat the landscape quivering lies;
The cattle pant beneath the tree;
Through parching air and purple skies
The earth looks up, in vain, for thee;
For thee-for thee, it looks in vain,
O gentle, gentle summer rain'

Come, thou, and brim the meadow streams, And soften all the hills with mist,

O falling dew! from burning dreams

By thee shall herb and flower be kissed, And Earth shall bless thee yet again, O gentle, gentle, summer rain.

W. C. BENNETT.

SUMMER STORM.

UNTREMULOUs in the river clear Toward the sky's image, hangs the imaged bridge;

So still the air, that I can hear
The slender clarion of the unseen midge;

Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep, Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases,

Now lulls, now swells, and all the while increases,

The huddling trample of a drove of sheep Tilts the loose planks, and then as gradually

ceases

In dust on the other side; life's emblem

deep

A confused noise between two silences, Finding at last in dust precarious peace.

On the wide marsh the purple-blossomed grasses

Soak up the sunshine; sleeps the brim

ming tide,

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That seemed but now a league aloof Bursts rattling over the sun-parched roof.

Against the windows the storm comes dash ing;

Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing;

The blue lightning flashes;
The rapid hail clashes;
The white waves are tumbling;
And, in one baffled roar,

Like the toothless sea mumbling
A rock-bristled shore,
The thunder is rumbling

And crashing and crumbling,-
Will silence return never more?

Hush! Still as death,

The tempest holds his breath,
As from a sudden will;

The rain stops short; but from the eaves
You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves-
All is so bodingly still;

Again, now, now, again Plashes the rain in heavy gouts; The crinkled lightning Seems ever brightening; And loud and long

Again the thunder shouts

His battle-song.
One quivering flash,

One wildering crash,

Followed by silence dead and dull,
As if the cloud, let go,
Leapt bodily below,

You can hear the quick heart of the tem- To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow-

pest beat.

Look! look! that livid flash!

And instantly follows the rattling thunder,

As if some cloud-crag, split asunder,

Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash,

On the earth, which crouches in silence under;

And now a solid gray wall of rain Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile.

For a breath's space I see the blue wood again,

And then a total lull.

Gone, gone, so soon!

No more my half-crazed fancy there Can shape a giant in the air; No more I see his streaming hair, The writhing portent of his form;— The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare, And the last fragments of the storm, Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea,

And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled Silent and few, are drifting over me.

pile,

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

SUMMER RAIN.

And the vapors that arise

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RAIN IN SUMMER.

How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat

In the broad and fiery street,

In the narrow lane,

How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,

Like the tramp of hoofs!

How it gushes and struggles out

From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window pane

It pours and pours;

And swift and wide

With a muddy tide,

Like a river, down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain!

The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks;

He can feel the cool

Breath of each little pool,

His fevered brain

Grows calm again,

And he breathes a blessing on the rain.

From the neighboring school
Come the boys,

With more than their wonted noise
And commotion;

And down the wet streets

Sail their mimic fleets,

Till the treacherous pool

Engulfs them in its whirling

And turbulent ocean.

In the country, on every side,

Where far and wide,

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,
Stretches the plain,

To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain!

In the furrowed land

The toilsome and patient oxen stand; Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, With their dilated nostrils spread, They silently inhale

The clover-scented gale,

From the well watered and smoking soil; For this rest in the furrow after toil

Their large and lustrous eyes

Seem to thank the Lord,

More than man's spoken word.

Near at hand,

From under the sheltering trees,
The farmer sees

His pastures and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops

To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein

Only his own thrift and gain.
These, and far more than these,
The Poet sees!
He can behold
Aquarius old

Walking the fenceless fields of air;
And from each ample fold.

Of the clouds about him rolled
Scattering every where
The showery rain,

As the farmer scatters his grain.

He can behold

Things manifold

That have not yet been wholly told,
Have not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,
Follows the water-drops

Down to the graves of the dead,

Down through chasms and gulfs profound, To the dreary fountain-head

Of lakes and rivers under ground;

And sees them, when the rain is done,

On the bridge of colors seven

Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.

Thus the seer,

With vision clear,

Sees forms appear and disappear,
In the perpetual round of strange,
Mysterious change

From birth to death, from death to birth,
From earth to heaven, from heaven to

earth.

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