As heedless of rest as a bird in its flight,
Allur’d by the flowers, and sooth’d by the gale,
O’er the green-sloping hill and the fair sunny vale.
With a fondness to roam, and a wish to be free,
He bounded in triumph, or whistled in glee,
Now crushing a blossom, or plucking a bough,
Or climbing a tree by the cliff’s rugged brow.
With his dog at his side, o’er the heather he flew,
Where the clover-bed bloom’d, or the strawberry grew,
And trampled the grass that encumber’d the plain,