Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.’
A summer evening in the country is associated in most minds with images of mirth and joy. Thus Goldsmith has described it:
‘Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening’s close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There as I passed with careless steps, and slow,
The mingling notes came softened from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,