Three hundred feet in depth and breadth, they saw,

Within it, an old shepherd and his flock

Quietly wandering over its gentle slopes

Of short sweet grass, through clumps of saffron broom.

They asked him by what name that hill was known.

He answered, The Hen’s Nest!

“Hen’s Nest,” cried Jean Guettard, “the good God grant

This fowl be not a phœnix and renew

Its feathers in Auvergne.”

They chuckled aloud,