The shrill cock's clarion the blue welkin fills, Waving sweet odours from his yellow hair. The nestling breezes plume their dew-bent wings; Loudly the watch-dog wakes the peopled lawn, While stroke on stroke the woodman's echo rings. Gray mists now drizzle from the smoky rocks; The humming bees swarm out in busy mood; The herdsman drives a-field his kine and flocks, And matron hens cluck out their callow brood. Nature in youthful dishabille appears, And the returning smile dispels her nightly tears. NOON The sweltering farmer spreads the new-mown grass And roguish Roger, pledging to his lass, To tilt the tankard slyly slinks away. The cloudless, sultry noon oft drives the swain But if dark rising rack threats speedy rain, The hay-cocks heap'd are hous'd with hurrying feet. Fowls droop the wing; the herd, their feed forgot, 325 5 10 5 10 Broad sheets of cloth are bleaching by the cot; EVENING The sun, his day-toil clos'd, to rest retires; The bat wheels round and round on leathern wing; Reynard creeps out, on pilfer'd eggs to sup; And chiming frogs their shrilly concert sing. Nature, a pensive matron, smiles serene, Her morning charms enveil'd, not anxious to be seen. 5 ΙΟ Then pressed that monarch's throne—a king: ΙΟ As Eden's garden bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. 15 Bozzaris, with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, The heartless luxury of the tomb. But she remembers thee as one Her marble wrought, her music breathed; 80 85 90 |