To noontide shades incontinent he ran, Where purls the brook with sleep-inviting sound, Or when Dan Sol to slope his wheels began, Amid the broom he basked him on the ground, Where the wild thyme and camomil are found; There would he linger, till the latest ray Of light sate trembling on the welkin's bound, Then homeward through the twilight shadows stray, Sauntering and slow: so had he passed many a day.