Sport the cattle in the meads,
The blythesome dance the peasant leads,
Even, 'mid that time of peace,
Beasts of prey their fury cease,
The lambkin roams all free and bold,
Tho' feeds the wolf beside the fold,
Knowing well thy potent arm
Then protects from every harm.
Lo, to hail the Sylvan king,
Woods their leafy honours bring,