Were heard the lowing herds along the vale,

And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills,

dale;

And vacant shepherds piping in the And now and then sweet Philomel would wail,

Or stock-doves plain amid the forest deep,

Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring

love.

Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm;

Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;

That drowsy rustled to the sighing Then comes thy glory in the summer

gale;

And still a coil the grasshopper did keep;

Yet all these sounds yblent inclinéd all to sleep.

Full in the passage of the vale above,
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood,
Where naught but shadowy forms was

And every sense, and every heart, is joy.
months,

With light and heat refulgent. Then
thy sun
Shoots full perfection through the swell-
ing year;
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder
speaks,

eve,

And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whis-
Thy bounty shines in autumn uncon-
fined,
And spreads a common feast for all that
In winter awful thou! with clouds and

And where this valley winded out below, The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.

A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was, Of dreams that wave before the halfshut eye:

Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tem-
Majestic darkness! On the whirlwind's