The white-gull on the sea.
The cuckoo’s voice is heard at dawn,
The dove coos in the tree;
The lark, above thy grassy lawn,
Now carols loud with glee.
Repose supremely reigns o’er all,
Low crowns the mountains hoar;
And vividly they now recall
The days that are no more.
Thy gurgling brooks, and winds that fleet