Ramble at Evening.(from the Cuckoo at Laverna)

Although invisible as Echo's self

often I've heard the nightingale and thrush,

Far off and faint and melting into air,

Cooling throats, sweet dew from hawthorn bush.

From vale to hill, flower after flower has blown

blending within a common English grove,

Embellishing the ground that gave them birth,

savouring earth born joys, sampling her treasure trove.

By unsought means for gracious purposes,

where spring her richest blossoms did display,

and every shape of nature is sustained

strange and familiar, might beguile the day.

Divine affections as with beast and bird

so pure, so fraught with knowledge and delight,

Till dusk descending upon hill and vale

summons the moon, pale candle of the night.