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Echo, in her airy round
O'er the river, rock, and hill,
Cannot catch a single sound,
Save the clack of yonder mill.

Cattle court the zephyrs bland,
Where the streamlet wanders cool;
Or with languid silence stand
Midway in the marshy pool.

But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Not a fluttering zephyr springs:
Fearful lest the noontide beam
Scorch its soft, its silken wings.

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,
Till the fresh descending shower,

Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raises every fainting flower.

Now the hill-the hedge-is green,
Now the warblers' throats in tune!
Blithsome is the verdant scene,
Brighten'd by the beams of noon!

EVENING.

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.

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Now he hides behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky:
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?
Trudging as the plowmen go

(To the smoking hamlet bound),
Giantlike 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 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,
The silvan scenes with ecstasy survey'd;
Nothing could make the fond Alexis gay,
For Daphne had been absent half the day:
Dared by Palemon for a pastoral prize,
Reluctant, in his turn, Alexis, tries.

PALEMON.

This breeze by the river how charming and soft!
How smooth the grass carpet! how green!
Sweet, sweet sings the lark! as he carols aloft,
His music enlivens the seene!

A thousand fresh flowerets, unusually gay,
The fields and the forests adom

I pluck'd me some foses, the children of May,
And could not find one with a thorn.

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,
The birds cannot compass a strain:

In search for a chaplet my temples to bind,
All day as I silently rove,

I can't find a floweret (not one to my mind)
In meadow, in garden, or grove.

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:

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