You can see him swing his heavy axe,
Resolved that tree shall go,
Like a workman labouring for his pay
When his funds are very low;
And tourists, wandering o'er the fields,
Look aghast at this woodman bold;
They shudder at the flashing axe,
And mark the upturned mould;
They see by the scattered chips that fly
That the woodman's strong though old.