Echo, in her airy round Cattle court the zephyrs bland, But from mountain, dell, or stream, Not a leaf has leave to stir, Nature's lull'd-serene-and still! Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur, Sleeping on the heath-clad hill. Languid is the landscape round, Grateful to the thirsty ground, Now the hill-the hedge-is green, EVENING. O'ER the heath the heifer strays Now he hides behind the hill, (To the smoking hamlet bound), From the barn or twisted brake: And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake. As the trout, in speckled pride, Playful from its bosom springs, To the banks a ruffled tide Verges, in successive rings. Tripping through the silken grass, O'er the path-divided dale, Mark the rose-complexion'd lass, With her well poised milking pail, Linnets, with unnumber'd notes, And the cuckoo bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting sun adieu! PALEMON. PALEMON, seated by his favourite maid, PALEMON. This breeze by the river how charming and soft! A thousand fresh flowerets, unusually gay, I pluck'd me some foses, the children of May, ALEXIS. The skies are quite clouded, too bold is the breeze, Dull vapours descend on the plain; The verdure's all blasted that cover'd yon trees, In search for a chaplet my temples to bind, I can't find a floweret (not one to my mind) PALEMON. I ne'er saw the hedge in such excellent bloom, The lambkins so wantonly gay; My cows seem to breathe a more pleasing perfume, And brighter than common the day: |