Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/30

Look upon that flow'ry plain,
How the sheep surround their swain,
How they crowd to hear his strain! 130
All careless with his legs across,
Leaning on a bank of moss,
He spends his empty hours at play,
Which fly as light as down away.
And there behold a bloomy mead, 135
A silver stream, a willow shade,
Beneath the shade a fisher stand,
Who, with the angle in his hand,
Swings the nibbling fry to land.
In blushes the descending sun140
Kisses the streams, while slow they run;
And yonder hill remoter grows,
Or dusky clouds do interpose.
The fields are left, the labouring hind
His weary oxen does unbind;145
And vocal mountains, as they low,
Re-echo to the vales below;
The jocund shepherds piping come,
And drive the herd before them home;
And now begin to light their fires,150
Which send up smoke in curling spires;
While with light hearts all homeward tend,
To Aberglasney I descend.
But, oh! how bless'd would be the day
Did I with Clio pace my way,155
And not alone and solitary stray.