Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire
For more than true and honest hearts require,
They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed
Through the green lane, - then linger in the mead, -
Stray o’er the heath in all its purple bloom, -
And pluck the blossom where the wild bees hum;
Then through the broomy bound with ease they pass,
And press the sandy sheep-walk’s slender grass,
Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread,
And the lamb browses by the linnet’s bed;