And in his shepherd’s calling he was prompt

And watchful more than ordinary men.

Hence he had learned the meaning of all winds,

Of blasts of every tone; and oftentimes

When others heeded not, he heard the South

Make subterraneous music, like the noise

Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills.

The shepherd, at such warning, of his flock

Bethought him, and he to himself would say,

The winds are now devising work for me!

And truly at all times the storm, that drives

The traveller to a shelter, summon’d him

Up to the mountains. He had been alone

Amid the heart of many thousand mists,

[47]

That came to him and left him on the heights.

So liv’d he, until his eightieth year was pass’d.

And grossly that man errs, who should suppose

That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks,

Were things indifferent to the shepherd’s thoughts.

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