tremulous nod the oats on the green hillsides;
one hears the distant mooing of the ox,
and on the barn roof the gay plumed cock is crowing.
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Nature has her brave ones who for her despise
the masks of glory dear to the vulgar throng.
'T is thus, O Adrian, with holy visions
thou comfortest the souls of fellow-men.
'T is thus, O artist, with thy blow severe
thou putt'st in stone the ages' ancient hope,