"But there is not a spot where you have trod.
You hard, old clumsy fellow,—
Not a hill, nor a field, nor a single sod,
But I must make haste to mellow.
"I then shall carpet them o'er with grass,
To look so bright and cheering,
That none will regret having let you pass
Far out of sight and hearing.
"The fountains that you locked up so tight,
When I shall give them a sunning,