BA. Then night retires from heaven; the high winds go A-sailing in cloud-pavilions of cavern'd snow. O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay; In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away. JULY ED. Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the trees With foliage hang, drowsy the hum of bees In the thund'rous air: the crowded scents lie low: Thro' tangle of weeds the river runneth slow. AUGUST BA. A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of straw On the yellow field, his scythe in his armës braw: Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noon From sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon. SEPTEMBER ED. Earth's flaunting flower of passion fadeth fair To ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air, As the art of man makes wisdom to glorify The beauty and love of life born else to die. OCTOBER BA. On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, down The golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown. May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend, With mellow apples her orchard-branches bend. NOVEMBER ED. Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn: The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn. Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores, And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors. DECEMBER BA. I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time, Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime; And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow, When the Christmas guest comes galloping over the snow. Thus they in verse alternate sang the year For rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear, Among the grey rocks on the mountain green Beneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene, Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongue After two thousand years is ever young,-- _Sweet the pine's murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe,--_ Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe, Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beech And gave to rustic clowns immortal speech, By rocky fountain or on flowery mead Bidding their idle flocks at will to feed, While they, retreated to some bosky glade, Together told their loves, and as they played Sang what sweet thing soe'er the poet feigned: But these were men when good Victoria reigned, Poets themselves, who without shepherd gear Each of his native fancy sang the year. ECLOGUE II GIOVANNI DUPRÈ _LAWRENCE AND RICHARD_ LAWRENCE Look down the river--against the western sky-- The Ponte Santa Trinità--what throng Slowly trails o'er with waving banners high, With foot and horse! Surely they bear along The spoil of one whom Florence honoureth: And hark! the drum, the trumpeting dismay, The wail of the triumphal march of death. RICHARD