And the first early cock, awakening, rings

His shrill clear challenge on the breaking morn!

A voiceless stir of many murmurings,

From woodland, hill, and dale, and meadow, tells

The flight of slumber: now the cricket chirps

Amid the barley, and the skylark plumes

His wing for early rising; passes by

The milkmaid to the pasture; and the farm

Grows noisy with the many-varied sounds

Of rustic labour, telling that hath fled