'Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun
Shoots thro' th' expanding air a torrid gleam.
O'er heaven and earth, far as the darted eye
Can pierce, a dazling deluge reigns; and all
From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.
Down to the dusty earth the sight, o'erpower'd,
Stoops for relief; but thence ascending streams,
And keen reflection pain. Burnt to the heart
Are the refreshless fields; their arid hue
Adds a new fever to the sickening soul:
And o'er their slippery surface wary treads
The foot of thirsty pilgrim, often dipt
In a cross rill, presenting to his wish
A living draught: he seels before he drinks!
Echo no more returns the sandy sound
Of sharpening scythe; the mower, sinking, heaps
O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfum'd;
And scarce a chirping grashopper is heard
Thro' the dumb mead. Distressful nature pants.
The desart reddens; and the stubborn rock,
Split to the center, sweats at every pore.
The very streams look languid from afar;
Or, thro' the fervid glade, impetuous hurl
Into the shelter of the crackling grove.