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 ev'ning loud,
Mark the mild resplendent moon,
 Breaking thro' a parted cloud!

Now the hermit owlet 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 thro' the silken grass,
 O'er the path-divided dale,
Mark the rose-complexion'd lass,
 With her weil-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.