II.

Lightening their labor with a careless song, Birds o’er the meadow swept with busy wing, Flashed in and out the forests’ sheltering, While clamorous council held the crickets’ throng. Swift fell the grass beneath the mower’s stroke To win its perfect ripeness ‘ere day’s end, When should, the harvest bearing, meekly bend The mild-eyed oxen ‘neath the unwieldy yoke. Broken with sound was even the noonday rest— Shrill-piping locust called imperiously, Impetuous bee proclaimed its industry, And blue-mailed flies pursued an endless quest; Only from throbbing river rose no song Blending its music with life’s murmuring throng.