4.

To slumber lull'd by wailings faint,
Awak'd by moanings of complaint,
From his high seat, in sportive glee
Down looking on her misery,
The squirrel, morrow after morrow,
Heard speech that sigh'd.
The sun, at morn, still found her weeping;
The sun, at eve, beheld her weeping,
And bow'd his beamy head in sorrow;
And when, at night, the otter stole
From his root-roof'd and fishy hole
Beneath the moon-lit tree —
The sound that mingled with the beam
Reflected from the " watery gleam, "
Was speech that sigh'd.
5.

When stoop'd the bramble's arm'd rich stems
Beneath their darkening load of gems,
And " on its thorny tree " the sloe
Stole from the west a purply glow,
While bees and blooms revisited
The all-thorn'd gorse, she nothing said
But, " Cruel was that friend of mine
Who stole my pretty Telmarine. "
But when the sloe was blackly mellow,
When the crab wore its flamy yellow,
When starken'd the dim heav'ns with cold,
And woods put on their crimson'd gold,
She sigh'd, " The year is darkening down,
The green locks of the crags turn brown,
Ripe bramble-berries cover them,
The fiend his club casts over them,
And winter comes, in hail and rain;
But Telmarine comes not again! "