On this page
- Departments (1)
- Text (3)
.,; Lysias. 227
., ; lysias . 227
XXXVIII . —LYSIAS .
It Was A Sultry Summer Noon, The Hottest...
It was a sultry summer noon , The hottest in the year
, And Nature like a victim lay , Before the powerful God of day ,
Silent and faint with fear . The reapers from the field were gone
Hushed was each bee and bird ; The trees stood still as in a trance ,
And save the hot air ' s giddy dance , No living atom stirred .
Then Lysias , from his cool north room ,. i Came forth with looks elate , .
Brimful of some old Grecian song , Which murmuring , he paced along
; To yonder wicket gate . He walked beside the shining moat _.
Where the sad willow grieves , Flinging its tresses down to cool ,
But reaches not the shrunken pool , Half hid ' mong lily leaves .
Then by the row of fragrant limes r His dreamy way pursues ;
The thirsty earth in many a rent , Graped at his feet , still on he went ,
Wrapt in his ancient muse . Now to the open fields he comes ,
Out to the mid-day blaze ; Straight from the shelter of his dream ,
Watered by many a living stream , He starts in hot amaze .
He leaves the path , a wood he neared , The grass-grown ditch he crossed ,
Pushing aside the clustered boughs , Which kindly swept his heat-dewed browsy
As back their branches tossed . The air felt thick within the wood ,
The heat without the blaze ; Till to an opening glade he came
, ( If that small space deserve the name , )
And there his steps he stays .
English Woman’s Journal (1858-1864), June 1, 1864, page 227, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/ewj/issues/ewj_01061864/page/11/