XVII.

But why should I his childish feats display? Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled; Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped, Or roamed at large the lonely mountain's head; Or, where the maze of some bewildered stream To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led, There would he wander wild, 'till Phoebus' beam, Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team.