All the cattle in the byre;
Only we, of live things, roam
O'er the fells so far from home;
E'en the red fox in his lair
Snuggles close to keep him warm;
And the lonely, wandering hare
Crouches, shivering, in her form;
While by Greenlea's frozen edge
Hides the mallard in the sedge.
Son, come home; the ingle-seat