A HIGHLAND VILLAGE.

Clear shining after the rain,

The sun bursts the clouds asunder,

And the hollow-rumbling thunder

Groans like a loaded wain

As, deep in the Grampians yonder,

He grumbles now and again.

Whenever the breezes shiver

The leaves where the rain-drops quiver,

Each bough and bush and brier

Breaks into living fire,

Till every tree is bright

With blossom bursts of light.

From golden roof and spout

Brown waters gurgle and splutter,

And rush down the flooded gutter

Where the village children shout,

As barefoot they splash in and out

The water with tireless patter.

The bald little Highland street

Is all alive and a-glitter;

The air blows keen and sweet

From the field where the swallows twitter;

Old wives on the doorsteps meet,

At the corner the young maids titter.

And the reapers hasten again,

Ere quite the daylight wane

To shake out the barley sheaves;

While through the twinkling leaves

The harvest moon upheaves

Clear shining after the rain.