II.

When fades the moon all shadowy-pale, And scuds the cloud before the gale, Ere morn with living gems bedight Streaks the East with purple light, We sip the furze flowers fragrant dews, Clad in robes of rainbow hues Richer than the deepened bloom That glows on summer’s scented plume: Or sport amid the rosy gleam, Soothed by the distant-tinkling team, While lusty labour, scouting sorrow, Bids the dame a glad good-morrow, Who jogs th’ accustomed road along, And paces cheery to her cheering song.