When choice I had to choose my wand'ring way,
But whether luck and love's unbridled lore
Would lead me forth on Fancy's bit to play:
The bush my bed, the bramble was my bower,
The woods can witness many a woful stowre.
"Where I was wont to seek the honey bee,
Working her formal rooms in waxen frame,
The grisly toadstool grown there might I see,
And loathed paddocks lording on the same:
And, where the chanting birds lull'd me asleep,