Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/115

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thirsty flowrets droop. The parching grass Doth crisp beneath the foot, and the wan trees Perish for lack of moisture. By the side Of the dried rills, the herds despairing stand, With tongue protruded. Summer's fiery heat Exhaling, checks the thousand springs of life. Marked ye yon cloud sail forth on angel-wing? Heard ye the herald-drops, with gentle force Stir the broad leaves?—and the protracted rain Waking the streams to run their tuneful way? Saw ye the flocks rejoice—and did ye fail To thank the God of fountains? See the hart Pant for the water-brooks. The fervid sun Of Asia glitters on his leafy lair, As fearful of the lion's wrath, he hastes With timid footstep though the whispering reeds, Quick plunging 'mid the renovating stream The copious draught inspires his bounding veins With joyous vigour. Patient o'er the sands, The burden-bearer of the desert-clime, The camel, toileth. Faint with deadly thirst His writhing neck of bitter anguish speaks. Lo!—an oasis, and a tree-girt well, And moved by powerful instinct, on he speeds With agonizing speed—to drink or die.