Ready as bird to meet the morn
Were all his efforts at the plow;
Then the mill-brook—with hay or corn,
Good creature! how he'd spatter through.
I left him in the shafts behind,
His fellows all unhook'd and gone;
He neigh'd, and deemed the thing unkind;
Then, starting, drew the load alone.
* * * *
Half choked with joy, with love, and pride,