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Hymn To Summer.

by Grace Aguilar.

Summer! beauteous Summer, thou art come in all thy mirth,
And sunshine and rich beauty walk in glee along the earth!
A thousand buds impatient lay, awaiting but thy nod,
Now upward springing hail thy smile, and mark where thou hast trod,—
And bid all gloom in sorrow from their jewelled homes depart,
To whisper forth in music—Oh how beautiful thou art!

Summer! gorgeous Summer! there are breezes floating by,
That thrillingly, and lovingly, to thy sweet smiles reply;
Till the full soul flings off its dull and darkly prisoning void,
Yearning to gaze once more on thee, and joy as it hath joyed
To feel thy glowing sunshine send its radiance on my heart,
And whisper, e'en mid pain and care, How beautiful thou art!

My spirit lists the tinkling streams, which gushing steal along,
Lending sweet music to the free and feather'd minstrel's song;
I see them like bright silv’ry threads, peep emerald banks between,
Giving new radiance to the flow'r, new verdure to the green;
They come upon my sleeping dreams in fairy tones of glee,
And fill my waking hours with love, oh such deep love for thee!

Summer! lovely Summer! thou dost such peace impart,
My spirit yearns to feel thy smile sink deep into my heart;
To revel in thy sunshine, to bask beneath thy sky,
And watch the graceful shadows on thy meadow lawns flit by,
To pluck the buds whose jewelled cups reflect the moonbeams pale,
And fancy ev'ry passing breeze breathes forth their fairy tale.

To fling me on thy velvet sward, and watch each twinkling star
Come forth in silent love to deck the azure depths afar,
To worship in thy forests when the night-wind saileth by,
And dream that angel messengers have left their homes on high,
To hover o’er the starlit earth, and dry her every tear,
When thou, sweet Summer, comest on, e’en human hearts to cheer.

That ev’ry flower is a shrine where spirits love to rest,
And thence send Hope upon their scent unto the weary breast;
That ev’ry tree hath whisperings peculiarly its own,
And each a guardian spirit hath to breathe its own deep tone;
And ev’ry stream, and flow’r, and leaf, and passing wind hath voice,
All angel-tongued and silver toned, to cry aloud—Rejoice!

Where are these dreams? Sweet Summer, thou hast come with all thy train
Of sunshine and of beauty! Shall I seek thy spell in vain?
No, no! though bound in heavy chains of weakness and of care,
And hid from me sweet Nature’s smile, which made all things so fair,
And pale and faded are the hopes that linger round my heart!
Still, Summer, lovely Summer, thou canst sweet dreams impart.

And there are spirits near me, breathing silv’ry chimes of love,
Lifting my soul from thy bright worlds, to brighter worlds above;
And ev’ry flow’r that faintly shines, and sinks in fading light,
Hath yet a tale of joyousness no earthly woes can blight;
Sweet Summer! Lovely Summer! Though chains awhile I wear,
Thy loving voice this comfort breathes—Our God is every where.

England—when confined to my room,
                        during the splendid summer of 1842.