—Georg. i. 388.
Soft then the voice of rooks from indrawn throat
Thrice, four times, o’er repeated, and full oft
On their high cradles, by some hidden joy
Gladdened beyond their wont, in bustling throngs
Among the leaves they riot; so sweet it is
When showers are spent, their own loved nests again
And tender brood to visit.
—Georg. i. 410.