False by degrees and delicately wrong,
For the crush’d Beetle, first—the widow’d Dove,
And all the warbled sorrows of the grove,
Next for poor suff’ring Guilt—and last of all,
For Parents, Friends, or King and Country’s fall.
Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
Whom I already loved;—not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills
Where was their occupation and abode.