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XI. THE RUSTIC.
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105

XI.
THE RUSTIC.

IN TWO SONNETS.

Of tattered robe all recklessly the while
She climbed the rugged hill with eager feet,
Caught the first waking of the morning smile,
And felt her heart with joyous wonder beat,
As slowly past the mountain vapor swept,
Lifting itself in fleecy folds away
From lake, and stream, and grove, and vale, that slept
Within its down, like weary child from play.
A lisping girl she was, yet fair withal,
Who with the buttercup and wild brook played,
Till labor claimed her for his daily thrall;
And she, in kirtle short and gown arrayed,
Left far behind her home in that sweet dell,
Blest with the hum of bees and song of whippoorwill.