John Cunningham

“ Quiet o'er the shepherd's cur,
Sleeping on the heath-clad hill.
Noon.—Descending Shower.
Languid is the landscape round,
Till the fresh descending shower,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raises every fainting flower. ”

“ Now the busy bee's employ'd
Sipping dew before the sun.
Morning.—Refreshment.
Trickling thro' the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream distils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills. ”

“ Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?
Evening.—The Ploughman.
Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the smoking hamlet bound)
Giant-like their shadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground. ”