XII.

W. J. LINTON.

C. II. ST. 52.

Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view;
Unseen is Yanina, though not remote,

Veil'd by the screen of hills: here men are few,
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot:

But, peering down each precipice, the goat
Browseth; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock,
The little shepherd in his white capote

Doth lean his boyish form along the rock,

Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock.