Summer Studies. II.

Over the farm is brooding silence now— No reaper's song—no raven's clangor harsh— No bleat of sheep—no distant low of cow— No croak of frogs within the spreading marsh— No bragging cock from litter'd farm-yard crows, The scene is steep'd in silence and repose. A trembling haze hangs over all the fields— The panting cattle in the river stand Seeking the coolness which its wave scarce yields. It seems a Sabbath thro' the drowsy land: So hush'd is all beneath the Summer's spell, I pause and listen for some faint church bell. The leaves are motionless—the song-bird's mute— The very air seems somnolent and sick: The spreading branches with o'er-ripen'd fruit Show in the sunshine all their clusters thick, While now and then a mellow apple falls With a dull sound within the orchard's walls. The sky has but one solitary cloud, Like a dark island in a sea of light; The parching furrows 'twixt the corn-rows ploughed Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight, While over yonder road a dusty haze Grows reddish purple in the sultry blaze.