And thyme, that sighs its odours free.
The lark, the blackbird, and the thrush,
Hymn’d happiness from every bush:
The Eden to their lot assign’d
Fill’d with content the feather’d kind;
Example worthy him, I ween,
Who reign’d sole monarch of the scene—
The Miller.——“What!” you will enquire,
“Possess’d he not his soul’s desire?
Ah! could his wishes soar above