Folding the Flocks. 133 FOLDING THE FLOCKS. SHEPHERDS all and maidens fair, And let your dogs lie loose without, From From the mountain, and ere day Bear a lamb or kid away ; Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. VILLAGE SOUNDS. FLETCHER. SWEET was the sound, when oft at ev'ning's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose! And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind GOLDSMITH. A Storm in Harvest. 135 A STORM IN HARVEST. Ev'N when the farmer, now secure of fear, From all the warring winds that sweep the skies. The father of the gods his glory shrouds, N 2 Deep Deep horror seizes ev'ry human breast, DAY-BREAK. SEE, the day begins to break, The early lark, that erst was mute, Many a note and many a lay. FLETCHER. SWEET rural scene Of flocks and green! At careless ease my limbs are spread ; But yonder rill! And list'ning pines nod o'er my head: In prospect wide The boundless tide! Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar: The curling seas Dance on in measure to the shore. Through nature wide, So rich in pleasure and surprise; How sweet the scene! How dreadful when the billows rise! When tempests cease, And hush'd in peace The |