Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high,
And rocked about in the evening breeze;
Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest,—
They had driven him out by elfin power,
And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,
Have slumbered there till the charmed hour.
Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,
With glittering izing-stars inlaid;
And some had opened the four-o’-clock
And stole within its purple shade.