 | The Forest Minstrel, and Other Poems |  |
127
As pours the sun the power of noon:
And through the bright and basking scene
No sound is heard, no motion seen,
But the bold sparrow's chirping loud,
And merry minstrel of the cloud;
And the keen buzzing of the fly,
And o'er the heath the pewit's cry.
| The Forest Minstrel, and Other Poems | |