The capercali’s note.
The shepherd’s low pipe, from the distant shore,
Is blent with the hoarse waves’ mingled roar,
And summons his fleecy throng.
Roused by the sea wind’s sweep,
The eagle has flown from his cliff-built nest,
And stoops to the dashing spray
That foams on the billow’s whitened breast,
To grasp his unwary prey.
The brown bear, to drink at his founts again,