O'ER the heath the heifer strays Free -- (the furrow'd task is done) -- Now the village windows blaze, Burnish'd by the setting sun. Now he hides behind the hill, Sinking from a golden sky: Can the pencil's mimic skill Copy the refulgent dye? Trudging as the ploughmen go, (To the smoking hamlet bound) Giant-like their shadows grow, Lengthen'd o'er the level ground. Where the rising forest spreads Shelter for the lordly dome, To their high-built airy beds, See the rooks returning home. As the lark, with varied tune, Carols to the evening loud; Mark the mild resplendent moon, Breaking through a parted cloud. Now the hermit howlet peeps 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-pois'd milking pail. Linnets with unnumber'd notes, And the cuckoo, bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting sun adieu. |