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rural sounds of eve were softly blending—
 * The fountain's murmur like a magic rhyme,

The bellow of the cattle homeward wending,
 * The distant steeple's melancholy chime;

The peasants' shouts that charms from distance borrow,
 * The greenfinch whirring in its amorous flight,

The cricket's chirp, the night-bird's song of sorrow,
 * The laugh of girls who beat the linen white.

The breeze scarce stirred the reeds beside the river,
 * The swallows saw their figures as they flew

In that clear mirror for a moment quiver,
 * Before they vanished in the clouds from view.

And schoolboys wilder than the winging swallows
 * Far from the master with his look severe,

Bounded like fawns, to gather weeds, marsh-mallows
 * And primrose blossoms to the young heart dear.