THE NOONTIDE HOUR.

I come like an Eastern monarch dight

In my crown of beams, in my robe of light;

And nature droops at my ardent gaze,

And wraps the woods in a purple haze;

From my fiery glance the strong man shrinks,

Like a babe on the bosom of earth he sinks;

Yet cries, as he turns from the glowing ray,

“This is a glorious summer day!”

Such is manhood's fiery dower,

Passion's all-consuming power;

Glorious, beautiful, and bright,

But too dazzling to the sight!