Give me the naked heavens above,
The broad bare heath below,
A merry glance from her I love,
My fleet hound and my bow.
I crave no red gold for my pouch,
No wine-cup mantling high,
Nor broidered vest; nor downy couch,
On which the care-worn sigh:
With conscience clear, and stedfast mind
My cares I whistle to the wind.

If I am hungry, I can wing
The wild bird as he flies;
Or thirsty, yonder crystal spring
My sparkling draught supplies.
The dear must yield his dappled coat
My vig'rous limbs to don;
The heron his dark plume to float
My fearless brows upon.
I am content - canst thou say more,
With pride, and pomp, and treasured store?