The native voice of undissembledjoy,
And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd
Leaves his mossy cottage, where with peace
He dwells, and from the crowded folds in
Order drives his flock, to taste the verdure of
The morn.
137. Friday.
138. W.
139. He is an earnest bee-leaver.