To sow Lucern upon.
Rejoice ye sons of Lanthernside, and Io pæan sing,
Since land-improving F——r vouchsafes to be your king!
Lucern! Lucern!
That best of grass Lucern!
Oh! happy swains of Lanthernside,
Be far from you concern;
For now your sterile rocky soil, where stocks are never seen,
Will quickly be converted all, to fields of fruitful green.
He’ll plant, he’ll plant,