GREAT BINDWEED. 165 



To body forth ; — the sun, the moon, the stars, 



Fire, and all hail, snow, vapours, stormy winds, 



Mountains, and fruitful trees, to praise the Lord ; 



Those rustling sounds do seem to bid the heart 



Forego its sadness, and all haunting cares 



To keep their distance ; murmuring at still eve, 



Breathing of peace and hope, most solemn they ; 



And he who hears them longs to hear again 



Those sounds unearthly, which advancing morn 



Nor noon may share in ; for all matin sounds 



Cease when the air grows warm, and frequent steps 



• 



Are on the green turf; or along the road 



The ponderous waggon creaks upon its way. 



But those who list such matins, vespers too, 



Nature's pure chant, must rise while drowsy men 



Rest on their beds, while yet no curling smoke 



Wreathes from the cottage, while the watch dog's 



bay 



Is silent, and a few dim stars on high 



Still linger in the blue expanse. And then 



His walk at eve must be when bustling sounds 



