Classic and Contemporary Poetry
LINES ON THE SUMMER OF THE CATTLE PLAGUE: 1865, by JANET HAMILTON Poet's Biography First Line: Summer long, and bright, and glowing Last Line: Lord, remove thy chast'ning hand! Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson Subject(s): Cattle; Death - Animals; Nature; Plague; Summer | ||||||||
SUMMER long, and bright, and glowing, Flowers in triple plenty blowing, Flushed the garden, field, and glade, Tints of every hue and shade. Woods and fields more richly green, Waters placid, pure, and sheen, Singing, sparkling, danced along, Musical as merles' song. Ne'er did "incense breathing morn" O'er green fields of springing corn, Flowery lea and moorland heath, Shed more balmy odorous breath. Such pearl-drops ne'er, I ween, Gathered were on village green, On sweet May, by sportive girls, They the purest, fairest pearls, 'Sixty-five as thou hast given From the dewy morning heaven. With the first faint streak of morn, When the cock first winds his horn, Wakes the music of the woods, Rising, swelling into floods Of melody! Sweet warbling throats! How ye poured your jubilant notes Of love and joy, devoid of fear: No tuneless Winter chilled your cheer. In that Summer, long and glowing, Nature from her lap o'erflowing Spread around an ample feast With full hand for bird and beast. Ah! what pleasure 'twas to see Straying o'er the daisied lea, Or, recumbent on the sward, "The milky mothers of the herd," Udder rich in lacteal wealth, Full of lusty life and health Richest clover, greenest grass, Cropping quietly. Now, alas! Sore plague-smitten, dying, dead, On the pastures where they fed! Thousands upon thousands gone Deep the loss and sad the moan In the dairies and the farms, Where each day brings fresh alarms: And the wonder ever grows Whence the dire distemper flows. Ah! not now the milkmaid's song, As she drives the herd along, Comes on woodland echoes borne, At gloamin' grey or dewy morn. Now she walks with mournful tread Through each empty stall and shed; Meets her ear no welcome low: All is deathly silence now. For your suff'rings, sinless things, Weeps the muse even while she sings: Guilt not yours brought down the rod Of a just and righteous God. To that God we now appeal: He has wounded, He can heal; He alone can grant release From this dark and fell disease. From our sinful, suff'ring land, Lord, remove Thy chast'ning hand! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ADVANCE OF SUMMER by MARY KINZIE THE SUMMER IMAGE by LEONIE ADAMS CANOEBIAL BLISS by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY THE END OF SUMMER by HENRY MEADE BLAND THE FARMER'S BOY: SUMMER by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD SONNET: 14. APPROACH OF SUMMER by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES JULY IN WASHINGTON by ROBERT LOWELL ODE TO THE END OF SUMMER by PHYLLIS MCGINLEY A BALLAD FOUNDED ON A REAL INCIDENT WHICH OCCURED IN HIGH LIFE by JANET HAMILTON |
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