I.

It was the Minstrel's merry month of June; Silent and sultry glow'd the breezeless noon; Along the flowers the bee went murmuring; Life in its myriad forms was on the wing; Play'd on the green leaves with the quiv'ring beam, Sang from the grove, and sparkled from the stream, When, where yon beech-tree veil'd the soft'ning ray, On violet-banks young Milton dreaming lay.

For him the Earth below, the Heaven above, Doubled each charm in the clear glass of youth; And the vague spirit of unsettled love Roved through the visions that precede the truth, While Poesy's low voice so hymn'd through all That ev'n the very air was musical.