The shepherd's group, lying in their repose
Of quiet sleep, aroused in wild afright
At crackling flames that spread both wide and high,
Gather their goods and to the village fly;
So doth the Moor.
E'en as the daisy which once brightly smiled,
Plucked by unruly hands before its hour,
And harshly treated by the careless child,
All in her chaplet tied with artless power.
Droops, of its colour and its scent despoiled,