And on his ear the laughing echoes fell:
Along his path the stooping wild flowers grew,
And woo'd the very zephyrs as they flew.
Then why young Damon, heeding nought around,
Seemed in some thrall of distant vision bound,
I cannot tell—but dreamy grew his gaze,
And all his thought was in a misty maze.
Awhile he sauntered—then beneath a tree,
He sat him down, and there a reverie
Came o'er his spirit like a spell,—and bright,