Now, up the rugged path would he
The steep hill’s summit slowly gain,
And still be chearful company,
Though shiv’ring in the pelting rain;
And when the brook was frozen o’er,
Or the deep snow conceal’d the moor,
When the pale moon-beams scarcely shed a ray,
The Shepherd’s faithful Dog, would mark the dang’rous way.
VII.
On Sunday, at the old Yew Tree,