The Sun.
London, England, 1861-07-02 00:00:00

AUSTRIA.

Baron de Krauss, ex-Austrian Minister of Justice,
Vice-President of the Chamber of Nobles, was, three
days ago, found on the road from Schoenbrunn to
Hetzendorf, by Field-Marshal Count de Grunn, and
brought by him in a state of insensibility to the
chateau. He had been struck by apoplexy, and ex-
pired in the course of the day. The Emperor went
to see him, and has expressed to the family of the
baron the regret he feels at his loss.
Baron Koller, Secretary of State at the Austrian
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and formerly Austrian
Minister at the Court of Berlin, has resigned his
situation in consequence of some differences of
opinion between him and his chief, Count de Rech-
berg.

LADY JUNE.

(From Eliza Cook's Poems.)

[By some inadvertence the printer omitted this rich and
gorgeous description of the month of roses for the song
that follows. We now give both complete, as a happy
farewell to June :—En. SUN.]
Here she comes with broider'd kirtle ; hero she is—the

Lady June,
Singing, like a ballad minstrel, many a gay and laughing

tune.
Let us see what she is dress'd in—let us learn the "mode',

she brings—
For maiden never look'd so lovely, though she wear but
simple things.

See, her robe is richly woven of the greenest forest leaves,
With full bows of honeysuckle looping up the flowing

sleeves.
See, the fragrant marsh-flag plaited forms her yellow

tassell'd sash,
With the diamond studs upon it, flung there by the river
splash,
See her flounces—widely swelling, as the Zephyr's wings

go past.
Made of roses, with the woodbine's perfumed thread to

stitch them fast.
See the foxglove's bell of crimson and the poppy's scarlet

bud
'Mid her tresses, bright and vivid as the sunset's ruby scud.
See the flesh and luscious bouquet that she scatters in her

way,
It is nothing but a handful she has snatch'd of new-mown
hay.
See, her garments have bean fashion'd by a free and simple
hand,
But toll me, have you seen a lady look more beautiful and

grand ?
Yon old man has quite furgotten what his errand was I

ween ;
As he stares with listless pleasure on her garment-folds of

green.
Busy dealers pauEe a moment in their hurry after gain;
Thinking there is something joyous in her trolling carol

strain.
Youths and maidens track her closely, till their footsteps
blithely mingle,
In the field and by the streamlet, up the hill and through

the dingle,
Children fondly gather round her, prying into leaf and

blossom,
Pilfering, with tiny fingers, jewels from her very bosom.

Here she comes with fairy footsteps, chanting ever as she

runs,
Ditty words that soothe the mournful, and enchant the

happy ones;
Here she comes with broider'd kittle, and we'll list what
Lady June
May be telling ont so sweetly, in that merry dancing tune.

THE SONG OF JUNE.
Oh 1 come with me, whoever ye be,
Come from the palace, and come from the cot ;
The strong and the hale—the poor and the pale—
Ah I sad is the spirit that follows me not.
Old December lighted his pyre,
And beckon'd ye in to the altar blaze;
He hung up his mistletoe over the fire,
And press'd soft lips upon Christmas days.
Ye welcomed him with his eyes so dim,
But I know ye have more love for me,
When I wander about, and whistle ye out
With my blackbird pipers in every tree.
Oh I come from the town, and let us go down
To the rivulet's mossy and osier'd brink ;
'Tis pleasant to note the lily queen float;
The gadfly skim, and the dappled kine drink.
Ohl let us away where the ringdoves play,
By the skirts of the wood in the peaceful shade ;
And there we can count the squirrels that mount,
And the flocks that browse on the distant glade.

And if we should stay till the farewell of day,
Its parting shall be with such lingering smile,
That the western light, as it greeteth the night,
Will be caught by the eastern ray peeping the while:
Little ones come with your chattering hum,
And the bee and the bird will be jealous full F oon ;
For no music is heard like the echoing word
Of a child, as it treads 'mid the flowers of June.
Ye who are born to be weary and worn
With labour or sorrow, with passion or pain,
Come out for an hcur, there's balm in my bower,
To lighten and burnish your tear rusted chain.

Oh I come with me, wherever you be,
And beauty and love on your spirits shall fall;
The rich and the hale, the poor and the pale,
For Lady June scatters her joys for all.

THE LONDON FREIGHT MARKET.—Messrs. Sey-
mour Peacock, and Co., in their circular, dated July 1,
state that outward freights continue very low and unre-
munerative, rates having declined. Homeward freights,
however, are rapidly improving. For a cargo of cotton
from Bombay to Liverpool 85s. have been paid, and larger
shipments and very high rates are expected for some time
to come. From the Pacific, the Brazils, and the West
Indies rates are better; but the Baltic and Mediterranean
trades are exceptions to the general improvement: