Transcription:
6 With sweetest fragrance every breeze; While, warbling songsters on the trees, Pour forth their gayest sweetest strain,
Who then, I ask, could I'er complain Of loneliness, or ever tire Of listening, to the feathered choir. Lonely, e'en now
I cannot feel, Heartfelt enjoyments, o'er me steal, While gazing on this lovely scene, Made brilliant, by the parting beams
Of yonder mighty orb of light, Saying to all around, good-night There, at the foot of yonder hill, Where oft the wakeful
hip-poor-will, Hath told to all, in accents plain, In hurried voice his plaintive name, Stands a sequestered, lowly cat, Guarded
by trees, whas lofty toss, So proudly bows with gentle creak, And seems to say, list while I speak, Fear not, fear not, I
ne'er will fail To guard thee, from the threatening gale, And, from the scorching summer ray, 7 Of yonder rules of the
day. Still further sound in wintry sleep, Wrapped in the snow storms spotless sheet, And half concealed among the trees,
So gently waving in the breeze; Slumbers a peaceful little lake, Which, from its slumbers will not wake Untill the warmer
breezes blow, And melting sunbeams stronger grow; And then, amid its sparkling wave, The duck, its dusky garb will love; While
rabbits, oft their calls repeat, To slake their thirst, and then retreat In haste, to yonder woody dell, Where, free from
danger they may dwell. Still further east, on yonder hill, A peaceful dwelling seems to fill With bright expression, all
around, While all is still, and not a sound, E'en from the sheep-fold, seems to rise, As, motionless each object lies. Far
in the distance, south of these, just, peeping from among the trees,