Breathed the soft airs of languor and repose.
There, stretched at length, we mused, with half shut eye,
To the leaf-kissing wind’s light lullaby,
That, ever and anon, with murmur deep,
Did through the pine’s Æolian organ creep.
Tired with the varied travel of the day,
The sound of game unheeded passed away—
The bursting thunder of a partridge wing—
The frolick blue-jay’s nasal caroling—
The tawny thrush, that peeped with curious look,