The sound just struggles up the steep ascent,
Then drones off in the distance. Nearer still,
A rifle's rattling charge starts up the echoes,
That flutter like scared birds, and pause awhile
As on suspended wings, ere sinking slow
To their low nests. I can distinguish now
The laborer returning from his toil,

With shouldered spade, and weary, laggard foot;
The cattle straying down the dusty road;
The sportsman balancing his idle gun,
Whistling a light refrain, while close beside

His hound, with trailing ears, and muzzle dropt,
Follows some winding scent. From the gray east,
Twilight, upglancing with dim fearful eyes,

Warns me away.

The dusk sits like a bird Up in the tree-tops, and swart, elvish shadows Dart from the wooded pathways. Wraith of day! Through thy transparent robes the stars are plain; Along those swelling mounds, that look like graves, Where flowers grow thick in June, thy step falls

soft

As the dropt leaves; amid the faded brakes