This grass is tender grass, these flowers they have no peers,
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.
“If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woolen chain—
This beech is standing by—its covert thou canst gain.
For rain and mountain storms, the like thou needst not fear;
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.
“Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.