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Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close,

Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;

There as I passed with careless steps and slow,

The mingling notes came softening from below;

The swain responsive to the milkmaid sung:

The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool: The playful children just let loose from school; The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind— These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

Goldsmith.