II.

Where are the songs of Summer? With the sun, Oping the dusky eyelids of the South, 'Till shade and silence waken up as one, And Morning sings with a warm, odorous mouth. Where are the merry birds?—away, away, On panting wings, through the inclement skies, Lest owls should prey, Undazzled at noon-day, And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.