To shun the hateful sight of man.
‘Whence is this dread of every creature?
Fly they our figure or our nature?’
As thus he walked, in musing thought,
His ear imperfect accents caught.
With cautious step, he nearer drew,
By the thick shade concealed from view.
High on the branch a Pheasant stood,
Around her all her listening brood:
Proud of the blessings of her nest,