Form'd from the season'd poplar's heart
By the unskilful rustic's art,
From every foe and danger free,
I guard the little spot you see;
And save from theft and rapine's hand
My humble Master's cot and land.
To me the flowery chaplet, Spring,
The deep brown ear doth Summer bring:
Autumn the luscious grape bestows,
The pale-green olive, Winter snows.
The she-goat bears from my rich down
Dugs swol'n with milk to yonder town.
The lamb that's fatten'd in my fold
Sends back its owner chinking gold.
The tender heifer hence that goes,
While here the frantic mother lows,
Oft pours its gushing blood to stain
The threshold of the richest fane.
Then, Trav'ller, view this God with fear,
And check all thirst for plunder here.
'Twere well thou didst; for I can be
Quick means of punishment to thee.
Say'st thou, "Come on," and scorn'st advice?
Behold the Cotter in a trice;
And, if he please thy sides to drub,
Myself will serve him for a club.
