Where erst the jay, within the elm’s tall crest,
Made garrulous trouble round her unfledged young;
And where the oriole hung her swaying nest,
By every light wind like a censer swung:—
Where sang the noisy masons of the eves,
The busy swallows, circling ever near,
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and a plenteous year:—
Where every bird that charmed the vernal feast,
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn,