Sailor of the atmosphere;
Swimmer through the waves of air; Voyager of light and noon; Epicurean of June;
Wait, I prithee, till I come
Within earshot of thy hum,- All without is martyrdom.
When the south wind, in May days,
With a net of shining haze
Silvers the horizon wall,
And with softness touching all,
Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And infusing subtle heats, Turns the sod to violets, Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass.
Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure.
Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen;
But violets and bilberry bells,
Maple-sap and daffodels,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern, and agrimony, Clover, catchfly, adder's tongue And brier-roses, dwelt among; All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he passed.
Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher! Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, Thou already slumberest deep; Woe and want thou canst outsleep; Want and woe, which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous.
I love to hear thine earnest voice,
Wherever thou art hid,
Thou testy little dogmatist,
Thou pretty Katydid!
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,
Old gentlefolks are they,Thou say'st an undisputed thing
In such a solemn way.
Thou art a female, Katydid!
I know it by the trill
That quivers through thy piercing notes, So petulant and shrill;
I think there is a knot of you Beneath the hollow tree,- A knot of spinster Katydids,- Do Katydids drink tea?
Oh, tell me where did Katy live, And what did Katy do? And was she very fair and young, And yet so wicked, too? Did Katy love a naughty man, Or kiss more cheeks than one? I warrant Katy did no more Than many a Kate has done.
Dear me! I'll tell you all about My fuss with little Jane,
And Ann, with whom I used to walk
So often down the lane,
And all that tore their locks of black, Or wet their eyes of blue,- Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid, What did poor Katy do?
Ah no! the living oak shall crash, That stood for ages still, The rock shall rend its mossy base
And thunder down the hill,
Before the little Katydid
Shall add one word, to tell
The mystic story of the maid
Whose name she knows so well.
Peace to the ever-murmuring race! And when the latest one Shall fold in death her feeble wings
Beneath the autumn sun,
Then shall she raise her fainting voice, And lift her drooping lid,
And then the child of future years.
Shall hear what Katy did.
Little inmate, full of mirth, Chirping on my kitchen hearth, Wheresoe'er be thine abode Always harbinger of good, Pay me for thy warm retreat With a song more soft and sweet; In return thou shalt receive Such a strain as I can give.
Thus thy praise shall be expressed, Inoffensive, welcome guest!
While the rat is on the scout, And the mouse with curious snout, With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best; Frisking thus before the fire, Thou hast all thy heart's desire.
Though in voice and shape they be Formed as if akin to thee, Thou surpassest, happier far, Happiest grasshoppers that are; Theirs is but a summer's song, Thine endures the winter long, Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear Melody throughout the year.
Neither night nor dawn of day Puts a period to thy play: Sing then-and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man;
Wretched man, whose years are spent In repining discontent,
Lives not, agèd though he be,
Half a span, compared with thee.
From the Latin of Vincent Bourne,
by William Cowper
GRASSHOPPER GREEN
Grasshopper Green is a comical chap; He lives on the best of fare. Bright little trousers, jacket, and cap, These are his summer wear. Out in the meadow he loves to go, Playing away in the sun;
It's hopperty, skipperty, high and low, Summer's the time for fun.
Grasshopper Green has a quaint little house; It's under the hedge so gay. Grandmother Spider, as still as a mouse, Watches him over the way.
Gladly he's calling the children, I know Out in the beautiful sun;
It's hopperty, skipperty, high and low, Summer's the time for fun.
Happy insect, what can be In happiness compared to thee?
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