Like Sirmio’s minstrel travel-worn,
My own soft couch at length I press,
And thinking o’er the toils I’ve borne,
Forget in sleep my weariness.
THE SINGING MASONS AT CROCUSBURG.
The singing masons
Building roofs of gold.—Shakespeare.
Pilgrim! within the hollow of this oak
Once hummed and toiled a commonwealth of bees.