No. 24.
There went out in the dawning light
A little rustic maiden;
Her flock so white, her crook so slight,
With fleecy new wool laden.
Small is the flock, and there you'll see
The she-ass and the wether;
This goat's a he, and that's a she,
The bull-calf and the heifer.
She looked upon the green sward, where
A student lay at leisure:
"What do you there, young sir, so fair?"
"Come, play with me, my treasure!"
A third seems to have been written in the South, perhaps upon the shores of one of the Italian lakes—Como or Garda.
THE MULBERRY-GATHERER.
No. 25.
In the summer's burning heat,
When the flowers were blooming sweet,
I had chosen, as 'twas meet,
'Neath an olive bough my seat;
Languid with the glowing day,
Lazy, careless, apt for play.
Stood the tree in fields where grew
Painted flowers of every hue,
Grass that flourished with the dew,
Fresh with shade where breezes blew;
Plato, with his style so rare,
Could not paint a spot more fair.