Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/193



I FROM no princely stock or lineage came, My father bore no prophet's honour'd name, Nor fame, nor power upheld his humble lot, Nor wealth, nor splendour deck'd my native cot: A shepherd's garment clad my youthful form, Made rough by toil, and harden'd to the storm; I led o'er hills and dales, wild streams and rocks, The wand'ring footsteps of my herds and flocks. I pointed where beneath the furrow sprung The first, soft herbage, delicate and young; I led them where the murm'ring waters wound Their fruitful course, along the moisten'd ground; And when the noontide sun with fervent heat, Upon their drooping heads too fiercely beat, I guided where the mountain's shelt'ring head,