JUNE. 



To see the birds flit to and fro 

 Along the dark-green reedy edge ; 



Or fish leap up to catch the fly ; 



Or list the viewless wind pass by, 

 Leaving its voice amid the sedge. 



The green and breezy hills away ! 



My heart is light, my foot is free, 

 And, resting on the topmost peak, 

 The freshening gale shall fan my cheek, 



The hills were ever dear to me ! 



I stand upon the mountain's brow, 

 A monarch in this region wide ; 



I and the grey-faced mountain- sheep 



The solitary station keep, 



As living thing were none beside. 



Tis summer eve, a gentle hour ; 



The west is rich in sombre sheen ; 

 And 'mid the garden's leafy trees, 

 Springs up a cool refreshing breeze, 



And the pale stars are faintly seen. 



171 



