Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening’s close
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose.
There, as I past with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften’d from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that low’d 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 bay’d the whisp’ring wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,–
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill’d each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread,
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled!
OLIVER GOLDSMITH, poet and playwright (1728 – 1774) lived in Peckham.