I climbed the rude hills, at the closing of day,
And mark'd with delight, ere the sun-beams withdrew,
The landscape below, in the distance that lay,
And brightly expanded its charms to my view.
The smoke from the cottage was curling beneath,
The cottage 'half-hid in the trees' from mine eye;
While the clouds caught, in many a silvery wreath,
The gleams, that were purest and brightest of dye.
The wild birds were talking in leaf and in nest;
The brook sung aloud with its music divine;
And far in the vale, that sloped down to the West,
Was the bleating of sheep and the lowing of kine.
'Twas lonely and rugged, the place where I stood,
But pleasures came over my heart in a throng;
The shout from the huntsman arose from the wood,
And I heard in the distance the shepherd-boy's song.