Where the squirrels play in the sunshine,
Where the prettiest flowers are found;
When he knows a pair of robins
That will fly to his hands for crumbs,
He hates to be penned in a school-room,
And he's glad when Saturday comes.
There's a bee-tree on the hillside,
But I'll not tell any one where;
There's a school of trout in the mill-stream,
And I want to go fishing there.