The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep.
The tender azure of the unruffled deep,
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough,
The torrents that from cliff to valley leap,
The vine on high, the willow branch below,
Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.
Yet his spirit drives him away, 'more restless than the swallow in the skies.'
The charm of the idyllic is in the lines:
But these between, a silver streamlet glides....
Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook,