Yet he unmurmuring bears the laborer’s curse,
To share his joys and roam the golden fields,
Erect in form and intellect—a man!
But when the evening comes with cooling breath,
Bringing the hour for labor’s sweet repose,
He clears his brow from every mark of toil,
And seeks his cottage by the village green;
There, having ate in peace his frugal meal,
He turns his mind, insatiate, to his books:
And, by the aid of Learning’s golden key,