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| THE FLOCKS were trudging from their winter haunts. | |
| Their youthful shepherd once again went forth | |
| Upon the plain illumined by the stream. | |
| The gaily wakened fields waved greetings gay | |
| And singing lands were hailing him with joy. | 5 |
| He smiled unto himself and walked along | |
| With wakening heart upon the spring-touched ways. | |
| Upon his crook he leaped across the ford, | |
| And, as he halted at the other shore, | |
| Rejoiced to see the gold that waves had washed | 10 |
| From underneath the stones, and fragile shells | |
| Of many shapes and tints that promised luck. | |
| The bleating of his lambs he heard no more, | |
| And wandered to the woods, the cool ravine. | |
| There brooks are rushing headlong down the rocks— | 15 |
| The rocks where mosses drip and naked roots | |
| Of sombre beeches darkly intertwine. | |
| In silent contemplation of the leaves | |
| He fell asleep, although the sun was high | |
| And silver scales were glistening in the stream. | 20 |
| He woke and climbing reached the mountain peak | |
| To celebrate the passing of the light. | |
| With sacred leaves he crowned his head and prayed; | |
| And through the mild and gently stirring shadows | |
| Of darkening clouds soared forth his hearty lay. | 25 |
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