The Shepherd Boy

Pleased in his loneliness, he often lies,
Telling glad stories to his dog, or e'en
His very shadow, that the loss supplies
Of living company. Full oft he'll lean
By pebbled brooks, and dream with happy eyes
Upon the fairy pictures spread below,
Thinking the shadowed prospects real skies,
And happy heavens, where his kindred go.
Oft we may track his haunts, where he hath been
To spend the leisure which his toils bestow,
By nine-peg-morris nicked upon the green,
I Or flower-stuck gardens, never meant to grow,
I Or figures cut on trees, his skill to show,
Where he a prisoner from a shower hath been.