’Twas a tall youth, whose cheek’s clear hue,
Was tinge’d with health and manly toil;—
Cabbage he sow’d; and, when it grew,
He always cut it off, to boil.
Oft would he cry, “Delve, Delve the hole!
And prune the tree, and trim the root!
And stick the wig upon the pole,
To scare the sparrows from the fruit!”
A small, mute favourite, by day,
Follow’d his step; where’er he wheels