126 MOUSE-EAR II.WVKWEED. 



What dost thou here in this wild wild spot, 



Where no curling smoke is seen 

 Wreathing at eve froqi the turf-cutter's cot, 



Nor children's steps have been 1 



The cry of the curlew alone is heard, 



With the splash of the lonely rill ; 

 But the cheerful song of the wayfaring bird, 



Soundeth not from the wood-crown'd hill. 



For no wood-crown'd hill witli its waving trees, 

 Hath a place on the wide wide plain ; 



Nor the whispering voice of the evening breeze, 

 Murmurs low 'mid the ripening grain. 



But the gusty wind is careering now, 

 And the storm-clouds are driving fast ; 



And responds the creak of an old oak bough, 

 To the roar of the angry blast. 



Methought as I stood in this moody eve. 

 While the storm-clouds were riding high. 



That words from the lone flower seem'd to breathe 

 As the breath of the summer wind's sigh. 



