Of their siesta light.
The sturdy hunter, bathed in moisture well,
Beneath an oak-tree’s boughs,
Beside his faithful dog, his sentinel,
Now yields him to repose.
All, all is calm, is silent. O how sweet,
On this enameled ground,
At ease recumbent, from its flowery seat,
To cast your eyes around!
The busy bee, that round your listening ear