Gravely the farmer smiled, by turns approving all.
The ripe corn waved in lone Dalgonar glen,
That, with its bosom basking in the sun,
Lies like a bird; the hum of working men
Joins with the sound of streams that southward run,
With fragrant holms atween: then mix in one
Beside a church, and round two ancient towers
Form a deep fosse. Here sire is heired by son,
And war comes never; ancle deep in flowers
In summer walk its dames among the sunny bowers.