Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently meets the morning gale,
Lambkins now begin to crop
Daisies on the dewy vale.
(Turning to the company present)
Tell me, sisters, am I wrong?
Has not Morn a pretty song?
Noon.—Second Child's Song.
By the brook the shepherd dines,
From the glowing noontide heat
Shelter'd by the branching pines
Hanging o'er his grassy seat.
Cattle court the breezes bland
Where the streamlet wanders cool,
Or in languid silence stand
Midway in the marshy pool.
Languid is the landscape round,
Till the fresh descending shower,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raises ev'ry fainting flower.
Now the hill, the hedge, are green,
Now the warbler's throat's in tune
Blithesome is the verdant scene,
Brighten'd by the beams of Noon.
(Turning to the company present)
Gentle sisters, what say you?
Does not Noon sing sweetly too?
Evening.—Third Child's Song.
O'er the heath the heifer strays
Free, her furrow'd task is done;
Now the village windows blaze,
