From morn till evening's sweeter pastime grew.
With timbrel, when beneath the forest's brow
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew;
And aye those sunny mountains half way down
Would echo flageolet from some romantic town.
"Then, when of Indian hills the daylight takes
His leave, how might you the flamingo see,
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes—
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:
And every sound of life was full of glee,