But they are craggy, steep, and bare;
Their fence is of the mountain stone,
And moss and lichen flourish there.
And when the storm comes from the North 25
It lingers near that pastoral spot,
And piping through the mossy walls,
It seems delighted with its lot.
And let it take its own delight,
And let it range the pastures bare 30
Until it reach that grove of trees