The mean that 'grees with country music best, ROBERT GREEN, 1550-1592. BLESSINGS OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 1725. Far from our debtors; no Dublin letters; PLAGUES OF A COUNTRY LIFE. A companion with news; a great want of shoes; Eat lean meat or choose; a church without pews; December in May; our boys run away; all servants at play! JONATHAN SWIFT, 1667-1723. XXIV. tind and Cloud A STORM IN AUTUMN. W FROM THE LATIN OF VIRGIL. HY should I mark each storm and starry sign, When milder suns in autumn swift decline? 1 Column on column prest in close array, The Thunderer, thron'd in clouds, with darkness crown'd, Fear walks the world, and bows th' astonished soul; Or Athos blazing 'mid eternal snow. The tempest darkens, blasts redoubled rave, Smite the hoarse wood, and lash the howling wave. Translation of W. SOTHEBY. TO THE RAINBOW. Bent in mighty arch be seen; Through whose sparkling portals wide, Like Cheerfulness, thou art wont to gaze Always on the brightest blaze; Canst from setting suns deduce Varied gleams and sprightly hues; R. SOUTHEY, 1774-1850. THE WINDY NIGHT. Alow and aloof, Over the roof, How the midnight tempests howl! With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune Through limbs that creek, They cry and flit, "Tu-whit! Tu-who!" like the solemn owl! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, Sweep the moaning winds amain, And wildly dash The elm and ash, Clattering on the window sash, With a clatter and patter, Like hail and rain, That well might shatter The dusky pane! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, How the tempests swell and roar! Though no foot is astir, Though the cat and the cur Lie dozing along the kitchen floor; There are feet of air On every stair! Through every hall Through each gusty door, There's a jostle and bustle, Like the meeting of guests at a festival! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, How the stormy tempests swell! And make the vane On the spire complain They heave at the steeple with might and main, And burst and sweep Into the belfry, on the bell! They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well, That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep, T. B. READ. A SHOWER. FROM COWPER'S LETTERS. It has pleased God to give us rain, without which this part of our country, at least, must soon have become a desert. The meadows have been parched to a January brown, and we have foddered our cattle for some time, as in winter. The goodness and power of God are never, I believe, so universally acknowledged as at the end of a long drought. Man is naturally a self-sufficient animal, and in all concerns that seem to lie within the sphere of his own ability thinks little or not at all of the need he always has of protection and furtherance from above. But he is sensible that the clouds will not assemble at his bidding; and that, though the clouds assemble, they will not fall in showers because he commands them. When, therefore, at last the blessing descends, you shall hear even in the streets the most irreligious and thoughtless with one voice exclaim, “Thank God !" confessing themselves indebted to his favor, and willing, at least so far as words go, to give Him the glory. I can hardly doubt, therefore, that the earth is sometimes parched, and the crops endangered, in order that the multitude may not want a memento to whom they owe them, nor absolutely forget the power on which all depend for all things. Letter to S. ROSE, Esq., June 23, 1788. W. CowPER, 1781-1800. H TO THE RAINBOW. * When o'er the green undeluged Earth, And when its yellow luster smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, The first-made anthem rang, |