AND thither let the village swain repair; FOR now no cloud obscures the starry void; The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills; Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoyed; A soothing murmur the lone region fills. 297 AND seated on a mossy stone, he spied An ancient man: his harp lay him beside. A stag sprang from the pasture at his call, And, kneeling, licked the withered hand that tied A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall, And hung his lofty neck with many a flow'ret small. |