Chapter XIII

Another night dreams on the Cornish hills: Trembling within the low moon's pallid fires, The tall corn-tassels lift their fragrant spires; From filmy spheres, a liquid starlight fills -- Like dew of daffodils -- The fragile dark, where multitudinous The rhythmic, intermittent silence thrills, Like song, the valleys. -- "Hark!" he murmurs, "Thus May bards from crickets learn their canticles!"