NOW FADES THE GLIMMERING LANDSCAPE ON THE SIGHT.
AND ALL THE AIR A SOLEMN STILLNESS HOLDS,
SAVE WHERE THE BEETLE WHEELS HIS DRONING FLIGHT,
TINKLINGS LULL THE DISTANT FOLDS:

AND DROWSY

SAVE

THAT

FROM

REIGN.

BENEATH THOSE RUGGED ELMS. THAT YEW-TREE'S

SHADE,

WHERE HEAVES THE TURF IN MANY A MOULD'RING HEAP.

THE

BREEZY CALL OF INCENSE-BREATHING MORN.

THE SWALLOW TWITT'RING FROM THE STRAW-BUILT SHED. THE COCK'S SHRILL CLARION, OR THE ECHOING HORN.

NO MORE SHALL ROUSE THEM FROM THEIR LOWLY BED.

PLATE III.