XII.

The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock; The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never sway'd; An honest heart was almost all his stock: His drink the living water from the rock; The milky dams supplied his board, and lent Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock; And he, tho' oft with dust and sweat besprent, Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went.