XXIII.

He said, and turn'd away; nor did the sage O'erhear, in silent orisons employ'd. The youth, his rising sorrow to assuage, Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoy'd: For now no cloud obscures the starry void; The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills;[2] Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoy'd, A soothing murmur the lone region fills, Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.