BOOK THE THIRD.
DESPONDENCY.
A humming Bee—a little tinkling Rill—
A pair of Falcons, wheeling on the wing,
In clamorous agitation, round the crest
Of a tall rock, their airy Citadel—
By each and all of these the pensive ear
Was greeted, in the silence that ensued,
When through the Cottage-threshold we had passed,
And, deep within that lonesome Valley, stood
Once more, beneath the concave of the blue
And cloudless sky.—Anon! exclaimed our Host,
Triumphantly dispersing with the taunt
