How the birds warble in the woods! I pick The waxen lilies, diving to the root. But swim not far in the stream, the weeds grow thick, And hot on the bare head the sunbeams shoot. Until our sport be done, O merry birds, sing on! If but to-night the sky be clear, the moon Will serve us well, for she is near the full. We shall row safely home; only too soon,— So pleasant ’tis, whether we float or pull. To guide us through the night, O summer moon, shine bright! 7 THE DOWNS O bold majestic downs, smooth, fair and lonely; O still solitude, only matched in the skies: Perilous in steep places, Soft in the level races, Where sweeping in phantom silence the cloudland flies; With lovely undulation of fall and rise; Entrenched with thickets thorned, By delicate miniature dainty flowers adorned! I climb your crown, and lo! a sight surprising Of sea in front uprising, steep and wide: And scattered ships ascending To heaven, lost in the blending Of distant blues, where water and sky divide, Urging their engines against wind and tide, And all so small and slow They seem to be wearily pointing the way they would go. The accumulated murmur of soft plashing, Of waves on rocks dashing and searching the sands, Takes my ear, in the veering Baffled wind, as rearing Upright at the cliff, to the gullies and rifts he stands; And his conquering surges scour out over the lands; While again at the foot of the downs He masses his strength to recover the topmost crowns. 8 SPRING ODE I INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY Again with pleasant green Has Spring renewed the wood, And where the bare trunks stood Are leafy arbours seen; And back on budding boughs Come birds, to court and pair, Whose rival amorous vows Amaze the scented air. The freshets are unbound, And leaping from the hill, Their mossy banks refill With streams of light and sound: And scattered down the meads, From hour to hour unfold A thousand buds and beads In stars and cups of gold. Now hear, and see, and note, The farms are all astir, And every labourer Has doffed his winter coat; And how with specks of white They dot the brown hillside, Or jaunt and sing outright As by their teams they stride. They sing to feel the Sun Regain his wanton strength; To know the year at length Rewards their labour done; To see the rootless stake They set bare in the ground, Burst into leaf, and shake Its grateful scent around.