Читать книгу The Children's Garland from the Best Poets - Various - Страница 56

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The hollow winds begin to blow,

The clouds look black, the glass is low,

The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,

The spiders from their cobwebs peep:

Last night the sun went pale to bed,

The moon in halos hid her head;

The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,

For, see, a rainbow spans the sky:

The walls are damp, the ditches smell,

Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.

Hark how the chairs and tables crack!

Old Betty's joints are on the rack;

Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,

The distant hills are seeming nigh.

How restless are the snorting swine;

The busy flies disturb the kine;

Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,

The cricket too, how sharp he sings;

Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,

Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws.

Through the clear stream the fishes rise,

And nimbly catch the incautious flies.

The glow-worms, numerous and bright,

Illumed the dewy dell last night.

At dusk the squalid toad was seen,

Hopping and crawling o'er the green;

The whirling wind the dust obeys,

And in the rapid eddy plays;

The frog has changed his yellow vest,

And in a russet coat is dressed.

Though June, the air is cold and still,

The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.

My dog, so altered in his taste,

Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;

And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,

They imitate the gliding kite,

And seem precipitate to fall,

As if they felt the piercing ball.

'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,

Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

E. Jenner