The partridge brings in peace her covey there, 465
And fears no danger but the fox’s lair;
No thundering gun the startled echoes know,
And e’en the timid lev’ret dreads no foe.
Come! when the moon in silvery lustre sleeps,
And climb with me the forest’s mossy steeps; 470
There, o’er the dewy turf, all bathed in light,
The playful hare scuds from the stranger’s sight,
Or calmly pastures on the glist’ning blade,
Whilst the lone owl hoots from his ivied shade.