Hillside. 175 



very hot, though. The sky is cloudless, and the bank 

 slopes towards the south ; so we select a large hazel bush, 

 and in its shade lounge listlessly, watching the insects as 

 they still flit joyously from flower to flower. Gradually our 

 position changes, and we find ourselves gazing dreamily on 

 one of the beautiful pictures nowhere, perhaps, seen in such 

 perfection as here. Acres upon acres of fast-yellowing 

 grain stretch all over the valley, broken here and there by 

 the dark foliage of a hop-garden. Pleasant-looking farm- 

 houses, embosomed in trees or nestling in orchards, give an 

 appearance of happiness and contentment to the scene. The 

 birds keep up a tuneful concert ; the larks soaring high in 

 the clear blue vault above, carol their gladsome melody, the 

 sweetly modulated notes of the linnet, as he sits on yonder 

 bush of juniper, the full rich tones of the merle and mavis, 

 the sweet twitter of the mad little tits, and the love-song of 

 the dove, all add through the ear to the charm that delights 

 the eye. Yet, than all this entrancing music, the poet has 

 imagined a richer orchestra, a musician with 



" A melody loud and sweet 

 That made the wild swan pause in her cloud, 

 And the lark drop down at his feet. 

 The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee, 

 The snake slipt under a spray, 

 The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, 

 And stared with his foot on the prey : 

 And the nightingale thought, ' I have sung many songs, 

 But never a one so gay ; 



For he sings of what the world will ba , 



When the world has died away.' " 



But what is that staring straight at us ? Be still a 

 moment ! Do you not see two eyes like sparkling diamonds 



