He views his buds in vales afar,
Or shears his overburden’d sheep,
Or mead for cooling drink prepares
Of virgin honey in the jars;
Or, in the now declining year,
When beauteous Autumn rears his head,
He joys to pull the ripen’d pear
And clust’ring grapes, with purple spread.
Sometimes beneath an ancient oak,
Or on the matted grass, he lies;