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“ But why, alas! the tender scene display! Since Lyttelton has crown'd the sweet domain

Could Damon's foot the pious path decline ? With softer pleasures, and with fairer fame.
Ah no! 'twas Damon first attun'd his lay, Where the rough bowman urg'djhis headlong steed,
And sure no sonnet was so dear as thine.

Immortal bards, a polish'd race, retire; « Thus was I bosom'd in the peaceful grave;

And where hoarse scream'd the strepent horn, sucMy placid ghost no longer wept its doom;

ceed When savage robbers every sanction brave,

The melting graces of no vulgar lyre. And with outrageous guilt defraud the tomb!

See Thomson loitering near some limpid well, “Shall my poor corse, from hostile realms convey'd, For Britain's friend the verdant wreath prepare!

Lose the cheap portion of my native sands? Or, studious of revolving seasons, tell, Or, in my kindreds' dear embraces laid,

How peerless Lucia made all seasons fair ! Mourn the vile ravage of barbarian hands? See ******* from civic garlands fly, “ Say, would thy breast no death-like torture feel, And in these groves indulge his tuneful vein ! To see my limbs the felon's gripe obey ?

Or from yon summit, with a guardian's eye, To see them gash'd beneath the daring steel? Observe how Freedom's hand attires the plain! To crowds a spectre, and to dogs a prey ?

Here Pope ! ah never must that towering mind “ If Pæar's sons these horrid rites require,

To his lov'd haunts, or dearer friend, return If Health's fair science be by these refin'd, What art! what friendships ! oh! what fame Let guilty convicts, for their use, expire;

resign'd; And let their breathless corse avail mankind. -In yonder glade I trace his mournful urn. " Yet hard it seems, when Guilt's last fine is paid, Where is the breast can rage or hate retain, To see the victim's corse deny'd repose !

And these glad streams and smiling lawns behold? Now, more severe! the poor offenceless maid Where is the breast can hear the woodlard strain, Dreads the dire outrage of inhuman foes.

And think fair Freedom well exchang'd for gold? “ Where is the faith of ancient Pagans fed ? Through these soft shades delighted let me stray,

Where the fond care the wandering manes claim? While o'er my head forgotten suns descend ! Nature, instinctive, cries, ' Protect the dead, Through these dear valleys bend my casual way,

And sacred be their ashes, and their fame!' Till setting life a total shade extend ! “ Arise, dear youth! e'en now the danger calls; Here, far from courts, and void of pompous cares,

E’en now the villain snuffs his wonted prey ; L'll muse how much I owe mine humbler fate : See! see! I lead thee to yon sacred walls Or shrink to find how much Ambition dares, Oh ! fly to chase these human wolves away." To shine in anguish, and to grieve in state!

Canst thou, O Sun! that spotless throne disclose,

Where her bold arm has left no sanguine stain ?

Where, show me where, the lineal sceptre glows, ELEGY XXIII.

Pure, as the simple crook that rules the plain? REFLECTIONS SUGGESTED BY HIS SITUA- Tremendous pomp! where hate, distrust, and fear, TION.

In kindred bosoms solve the social tie; Born near the scene for Kenelm's fate renown'd, There not the parent smile is half sincere; I take my plaintive reed and range the grove,

Nor void of art the consort's melting eye. And raise my lay, and bid the rocks resound There with the friendly wish, the kindly flame, The savage force of Empire, and of Love.

No face is brighten'd, and no bosoms beat ; Fast by the centre of yon various wild,

Youth, manhood, age, avow one sordid aim, Where spreading oaks embower a Gothic fane; And e'en the beardless lip essays deceit. Kendrida's arts a brother's youth beguild; There coward rumours walk their murderous round;

There Nature urg'd her tenderest pleas in vain. The glance, that more than rural blame instills; Soft o'er his birth, and o'er his infant hours, Whispers, that ting'd with friendship doubly wound,

Th' ambitious maid could every care employ; Pity that injures, and concern that kills. Then with assiduous fondness cropt the flowers, Their anger whets, but love can ne'er engage; To deck the cradle of the princely boy.

Caressing brothers part but to revile; But soon the bosom's pleasing calm is flown; There all men smile, and Prudence warns the wise, Love fires her breast; the sultry passions rise;

To dread the fatal stroke of all that smile. A favour'd lover seeks the Mercian throne, There all her rivals! sister, son, and sire, And views her Kenelm with a rival's eyes.

With horrid purpose hug destructive arms; How kind were Fortune, ah! how just were Fate, There soft-ey'd maids in murderous plots conspire,

Would Fate or Fortune Mercia's heir reinove ! And scorn the gentler mischief of their charms. How sweet to revel on the couch of state !

Let servile minds one endless watch endure; To crown at once her lover and her love!

Day, night, nor hour, their anxious guard resign; See, garnish'd for the chase, the fraudful maid But, lay me, Fate ! on flowery banks, secure,

To these lone hills direct his devious way; Though my whole soul be, like my limbs, supine. The youth all prone the sister guide obcy'd,

Yes, may my tongue disdain a vassal's care; ill-fated youth, himself the destin'd prey.

My lyre resound no prostituted lay : But now, nor shaggy hill, nor pathless plain, More warm to merit, more elate to wear Forms the lone refuge of the sylvan game;

The cap of Freedom, than the crown of bay.

Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood, But ah! where Grenville charms the listening ear, I wish it not o'er golden sands to flow;

'T is hard to think the cheerless maxim true. Cheer'd by the verdure of my spiral wood,

“ The groves may smile; the rivers gently glide ; I scorn the quarry where no shrub can grow.

Soft through the vale resound the lonesome lay: No midnight pangs the shepherd's peace pursue; E'en thickets yield delight, if Taste preside;

His tongue, his hand, atteinpts no secret wound; But can they please, when Lyttelton 's away? He sings his Delia, and if she be true,

“Pure as the swain's the breast of *** glows, His lore at once, and his ambition 's crown'd.

Ah! were the shepherd's praise, like his refind! But, how improv'd the generous dictate flows

Through the clear medium of a polish'd mind ! ELEGY XXIV.

Happy the youths who, warm with Britain's love, He takes occasion, from the fate of Eleanor of Happy that in the radiant circle move,

Her inmost wish in ***'s periods hear !
Bretagne, to suggest the imperfect pleasures of

Attendant orbs, where Lonsdale gilds the sphere! a solitary life.

“ While rural faith, and every polish'd art, W, hen Beauty mourns, by Fate's injurious doom,

Each friendly Charm, in *** conspire,
Hid from the cheerful glance of human eye; From public scenes all pensive must you part;
When Nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb,

All joyless to the greenest fields retire!
Hard is that heart which checks the rising righ.

Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or stream, Fair Eleanora! would no gallant mind,

Like some Jone halcyon, social pleasure shun; The cause of love, the cause of justice own?

Go dare the light, enjoy its cheerful beam, Matchless thy charms, and was no life resign'd

And hail the bright procession of the Sun. To see them sparkle from their native throne ?

“ Then' cover'd by thy ripen'd shades, resume Or had fair Freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms,

The silent walk; no more by passion tost : Well might such brows the regal gem resign; Then seek thy rustic haunts; the dreary gloom, Thy radiant mien might scorn the guilt of arms,

Where every art that colours life, is lost.”— Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine.

In vain! the listening Muse attends in vain ! O shame of Britons ! in one sullen tower

Restraints in hostile bands her motions waitShe wet with royal tears her daily cell;

Yet will I grieve, and sadden all my strain, She found keen Anguish every rose devour; [fell. When injur'd Beauty mourns the Muse's fate.

They sprung, they shone, they faded, and they
Through one din lattice fring'd with ivy round,

Successive suns a languid radiance threw;
To paint how tierce her angry guardian frown'd,

ELEGY XXV.
To mark how fast her waning beauty few.
This, age might bear; then sated Fancy palls,

TO DELIA, WITH SOME FLOWERS;
Nor warmly hopes what splendour can supply; Complaining how much his benevolence suffers on
Fond youth incessant mourns, if rigid walla

account of his humble fortune. Restrain its listening ear, its curious eye.

WHATE'ER could Sculpture's curious art employ, Believe me, ****, the pretence is vain!

Whate'er the lavish hand of Wealth can shower, This boasted calm that smooths our early days; | These would I give-and every gift enjoy, For never yet could youthful mind restrain

That pleas'd my fair—but late denies the power. Th’ alternate pant for pleasure and for praise.

Blest were my lot to feed the social fires ! E'en me, by shady oak or limpid spring,

To learn the latent wishes of a friend! Een me, the scenes of polish'd life allure;

To give the buon his native taste adınires, Some genius whispers, “Life is on the wing,

And, for my transport, on his smile depend ! And bard his lot that languishes obscure. " What though thy riper mind admire no more

Blest too is he whose evening ramble strays 'The shining cincture, and the broider'd fold,

Where droop the sons of Indigence and Care ! Can pierce like lightning through the tigurd ore,

His little gifts their gladden'd eyes amaze, And melt to dross the radiant forms of gold.

And win, at small expense, their fondest prayer! Pars, ermines, rods, mav well attract thy scorn;

And oh the joy! to shup the conscious light, The futile presents of capricious power!

To spare the modest blush; to give unseen! But wit, but wortlı, the public sphere adorn,

Like showers that fall behind the veil of night, And who but envies then the social hour?

Yet deeply tinge the smiling vales with green. “ (an Virtue, careless of her pupil's meed,

But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve! Forget how *** sustains the shepherd's cause?

Whose virtues in our cultur'd vales appear! Content in shades to tune a lonely reed,

For whose sad fate a thousand shepherds grieve, Nor join the sounding pæan of applause?

And fading fields allow the grief sincerc. For public haunts, impell’d by Britain's weal, To call lost Worth from its oppressive shade;

Sxe Grenville quit the Muse's favourite ease; To fix its equal sphere, and see it shine ; And! shall not swains admire bis noble zeal?

To hear it grateful own the generous aid; Admiring praise, admiring strive to please? This, this is transport--but must ne'er be mine

Life,' says the sage, “affords no bliss sincere ; Faint is my bounded bliss; nor I refuse
And curts and cells in vain our hopes renew:' To range where daisies open, rivers roll;

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While prose or song the languid hours amuse, I bade my words their wonted softness wear,
And sooth the fond impatience of my sou).

And seiz'd the minute of returning love.
A while I'll weave the roofs of jasmine bowers, “To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the rest ?

And urge with trivial cares the loitering year; Will yet thy love a candid ear incline?
A while I'll prune my grore, protect my flowers, Assur'd that virtue, by misfortune prest,
Then, unlamented, press an early bier !

Feels not the sharpness of a pang like mine. Of those lov'd flowers the lifeless corse may share; “Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame;

Some hireling hand a fading wreath bestow: Ere-while to flaunt it in the face of day; The rest will breathe as sweet, will glow as fair, When, scorn'd of virtue, stigma iz'd by fame,

As when their master smild to see them głow. Low at my feet desponding Jessy lay. The sequent morn shall wake the sylvan qnire; « • Henry,' she said, 'by thy dear form subdu'd, The kid again shall wanton ere 't is noon;

See the sad reliques of a nympb undone ! Nature will smile, will wear her best attire; I find, I find this rising sub renew'd: 0! let not gentle Delia smile so soon!

I sigh in shades, and sicken at the Sun. While the rude hearse conveys me slow away,

“ Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry, And careless eyes my vulgar fate proclaim,

When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return ? Let thy kind tear my utmost worth o'erpay ;

Yet what can morn's returning ray supply, And, softly sighing, vindicate my fame.

But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn! O Delia ! cheer'd by thy superior praise,

“Alas! no more that joyous morn appears I bless the silent path the Fates decree;

That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame; Pleas'd, from the list of my inglorious days,

For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears, To raise the moments crown'd with bliss and thee. And ting'd a mother's glowing check with shame.

“ The vocal birds that raise their matin strain,

The sportive lambs, increase my pensive moan;
All seem to chase me from the cheerful plain,

And talk of truth and innocence alone,
ELEGY XXVI.

“ If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Describing the sorrow of an ingenuous mind, on Where blooin thejasmines that could once allure,

the melancholy event of a licentious amour. Hope not to find delight in us, they say, WHY

For we are spotless, Jessy ; we are pure. Hy mourns my friend? why weeps his downcast

* Ye flowers ! that well reproach a nymph so frail ; eye, That eye where mirth, where fancy us'd to shine?

Say, could ye with my virgin fame cumpare : Thy cheerful meads reprove that swelling sigh; The brightest bud that scents the vernal gale

Spring ne'er enamellid fairer meads than thine. Was not so fragrant, and was not so fair. Art thou not lodg'd in Fortune's warm embrace?

“ Now the grave old alarm the gentler young ; Wert thou not form'd by Nature's partial care?

And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Blest in thy song, and blest in every grace

Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue, That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair ?

That bids the morn propitious smile on me. “Damon,” said he, “thy partial praise restrain ;

“ Thus for your sake I shun each human eye; Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore ; To die I languish, but I dread to die,'

I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu ;
Alas! his very praise awakes my pain,
And my poor wounded bosom bleeds the more.

Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. “For oh ! that Nature on my birth had frown'd,

“ Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, Or Fortune fix'd me to some lowly cell;

And let me silent seek some friendly shore: Then bad my bosom ’scap'd this fatal wound, There only, banish'd from the form I love,

Nor had I bid these vernal sweets farewell. My weeping virtue shall relapse no more, “But led by Fortune's hand, her darling child,

“Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name; My youth her vain licentious bliss admir'd;.

Be such the moed of some more artful fair; In Fortune's train the syren Flattery smild,

Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shaine, And rashly hallow'd all her queen inspir'd. That pity gave, what love refusd to share, “Of folly studious, e'en of vices vain,

“ Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread; Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay !

Nor hurl thy Jessy to the vulgar crew;
I chas'd the gnileless daughters of the plain, Not such the parent's board at which I fed!
Nor drop'd the chase, till Jessy was my prey.

Not such the precept from his lips I drew ! « Poor artless maid! to stain thy spotless name,

“ Haply, when Age has silver'd o'er my hair, Expense, and art, and toil, united strove;

Malice may learn to scorn so mean a spoil ; To lure a breast that felt the purest flame, Envy may slight a face no longer fair ; Sustain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love,

And pity, welcome, to my native soil.' “ School'd in the science of love's mazy wiles,

“ She spoke-nor was I born of savage race; I cloth'd each feature with affected scorn;

Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign; I spoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles, Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace,

And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn. And vow'd to waste her life in prayers for mine. “Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care, “ I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend; Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove;

I saw her breast with every passion heave ;

I left her-torn from every earthly friend;

Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train, Oh! my hard bosom, which could bear to leave! If haply from your haunts ye stray 11_Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose;

To waste with us a summer's roay. The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain;

Exclude the taste of every swain, O'er the tall mast the circling surges close;

Nor our untutor'd sense disdain: My Jessy-floats upon the watery plain!

'T is Nature only gives exclusive right

To relish her supreme delight; “ And see my youth's impetuous fires decay;

She, where she pleases kind or coy, Seek not to stop Reflection's bitter tear;

Who furnishes the scene, and forms us to enjoy. But warn the frolic, and instruct the gay,

Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
From Jessy floating on her watery bier!”

By her auspicious aid refin'd;
Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,

Or humble harebell paints the plain
ODES, SONGS, BALLADS, &c. Or valley winds, or fountain flows,

Or purple heath is ting'd in vain :

For such the rivers dash the foaming tides, RURAL ELEGANCE.

The mountain swells, the dale subsides;

E'en thriftless furze detains their wandering sight, AN ODE TO THE LATE DUTCHESS OF SOMERSET. And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with Written 1750.

delight. While orient skies restore the day,

With what suspicious fearful care And dew-drops catch the lucid ray;

The sordid wretch secures his claim, Amid the sprightly scenes of morn,

If haply some luxurious heir

Should alienate the fields that wear his name! Will aught the Muse inspire ! Oh! peace to yonder clamorous horn

What scruples lest some future birth That drowns the sacred lyre!

Should litigate a span of earth!

Bonds, contracts, feoffinents, names unmeet for Ye rural thanes that o'er the mossy down

prose, Some panting, timorous hare pursue;

The towering Muse endures not to disclose; Does Nature mean your joys alone to crown?

Alas! her unrevers'd decree, Say, does she smooth her lawns for you?

More comprehensive and more free, For you does Echo bid the rocks reply,

Her lavish charter, taste, appropriates all we see. And urg'd by rude constraint resound the jovial cry?

Let gondolas their painted flags unfold, See from the neighbouring bill, forlorn,

And be the solemn day enroll’d,
The wretched swain your sport survey;

When to confirm his lofty plea,
He finds his faithful fences torn,
He finds his labour'd crops a prey;

In nuptial sort, with bridal gold,

The grave Venetian weds the sea : He sees his flock--no more in circles feed;

Each laughing Muse derides the vow; Haply beneath your ravage bleed,

E’en Adria scorns the mock embrace, And with no random curses loads the deed.

To some lone hermit on the mountain's brow, Nor yet, ye swains, conclude

Allotted, from his natal hour,
That Nature smiles for you alone;

With all her myrtle shores in dower.
Your bounded souls, and your conceptions crude, His breast to admiration prone
The proud, the selfish boast disown :

Enjoys the smile upon her face,
Yours be the produce of the soil :

Enjoys triumphant every grace, O may it still reward your toil!

And finds her more his own. Nor ever the defenceless train

Fatigu'd with Form's oppressive laws, Of clinging infants ask support in vain!

When Somerset avoids the great ; But though the various harvest gild your plains, When, cloy'd with merited applause, Does the mere landscape feast your eye?

She seeks the rural calm retreat ; Or the warm hope of distant gains

Does she not praise each mossy cell, Par other cause of glee supply?

And feel the truth my numbers tell ? Is not the red-streak's future juice

When deafen'd by the loud acclaim, The source of your delight profound,

Which genius grac'd with rank obtains, Where Ariconium pours her gem profuse,

Could she got more delighted hear Purpling a whole horizon round?

Yon throstle chant the rising year? Athirst ye praise the limpid stream, 't is true: Could she not spurn the wreaths of Fame, Put though, the pebbled shores among,

To crop the primrose of the plains? It mimic no unpleasing song,

Does she not sweets in each fair valley find, The limpid fountain murmurs not for you. Lost to the suns of Power, unknown to half mankind? Unpleas'd ye see the thickets bloom,

Ah, can she covet there to see Unpleas'd the Spring her flowery robe resume; The splendid slaves, the reptile race, Unmor'd the mountain's airy pile,

That oil the tongue, and bow the knce, The dappled incad without a sinile.

That slight her merit, but adore her place? O let a rural conscious Muse,

Far happier, if aright ( deem, For well she know's, your froward sense accuse: When from gay throngs, and gilded spires, Porih to the solemn oak yon bring the square,

To where the lonely halcyons play, And span the massy trunk, before you cry, 't is fair. Her philosophic step retires :

While, studious of the moral theme,

Smit by the glare of rank and place,
She, to some sinooth sequester'd stream

To courts the sons of Pancy flew;
Likens the swain's inglorious day;

There long had Art ordain'd a rival seat;
Pleas'd from the flowery margin to survey,

There had she lavish'd all her care llow cool, screne, and clear, the current glides away. To form a scene more dazzling fair,

And call'd them from their green retreat O blind to truth, to virtue blind,

To share her proud control; Who slight the sweetly pensive mind !

Had given the robe with grace to flow, On whose fair birth the Graces mild,

Had taught exotic gems to glow; And every Muse prophetic smil'd,

And, emulous of Nature's power, Not that the poet's boasted fire

Mimick'd the plume, the leaf, the flower; Should Fame's wide-echoing trumpet swell ;

Chang'd the complexion's native hue,
Or, on the music of his lyre

Moulded each rustic limb anew,
Fach future age with rapture dwell;
The vaunted sweets of praise remove,

And warp'd the very soul.
Yet shall such bosons claim a part

A while her magic strikes the novel eye, In all that glads the human heart;

A while the fairy forms delight; Yet these the spirits, form'd to judge and prove

And now aloof we seem to fly All Nature's charms immense, and Heaven's un

On purple pinions through a purer sky, bounded love.

Where all is wondrous, all is bright:

Now landed on some spangled shore And oh ! the transport, most ally'd to song,

A while each dazzled maniac roves In some fair villa's peaceful bound,

By sapphire lakes, through emerald groves. To catch soft hints from Nature's tongue,

Paternal acres please no more ; And bid Arcadia bloom around :

Adieu the simple, the sincere delightWhether we fringe the sloping hill,

Th' habitual scene of hill and dale, Or smooth below the verdant mead;

The rural herds, the vernal gale, Whether we break the falling rill,

The tangled vetch's purple bloom, Or through meandering mazes lead ;

The fragrance of the bean's perfume, Or in the horrid bramble's room

Be theirs alone who cultivate the soil, [toil. Bid careless groups of roses bloom ;

And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of Or let some shelier'd lake serene Reflect flowers, woods, and spires, and brighten all

But soon the pageant fades away!

'Tis Nature only bears perpetual sway. the scene.

We pierce the counterfeit delight, O sweet disposal of the rural hour!

Fatigu'd with splendour's irksome beams. O beauties never known to cloy! [bower, Pancy again demands the sight While Worth and Genius haunt the favour'd Of native groves and wonted streams,

And every gentle breast partakes the joy ! Pants for the scenes that charm'd her youthful While Charity at eve surveys the swain,

eyes,

(guise, Enabled by these toils to cheer

Where Truth maintains her court and banishes DisA train of helpless infants dear,

Then hither oft, ye senators, retire, Speed whistling home across the plain;

With Nature here high converse hold; See vagrant Luxury, her handmaid grown,

For who like Stamford her delights admire, For half her graceless deeds atone, [her own.

Like Stamford shall with scorn behold And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with

Th’ unequal bribes of pageantry and gold; Why brand these pleasures with the name

Beneath the British oak's majestic shade,
Of soft, unsocial toils, of Indolence and Shame? Shall see fair Truth, immortal maid,
Search but the garden, or the wood,

Friendship in artless guise array'd,
Let yon admir'd carnation own,

Honour and moral Beauty shine

[divine. Not all was meant for raiment, or for food, With more attractive charms, with radiance more Not all for needful use alone;

Yes, here alone did highest Heaven ordain There while the seeds of future blossoms dwell,

The lasting magazine of charms, 'T is colour'd for the sight, perfum'd to please the Whatever wins, whatever warms, smell.

Whatever Fancy seeks to share,
Why knows the nightingale to sing?

The great, the various, and the fair,
Why flows the pine's nectareous juice?

For ever should remain!
Why shines with paint the linnet's wing ?

Her impulse nothing may restrain-
For sustenance alone? For use?

Or whence the joy 'mid columns, towers,
Por preservation ? Every sphere

'Midst all the city's artful trim, Shall bid fair Pleasure's rightful claim appear. To rear some breathless vapid flowers And sure there seem, of human kind,

Or shrubs fuliginously grim :
Some born to shun the solemn strife;

From rooms of silken foliage vain,
Some for amusive tasks design’d,

To trace the dun far distant grove,
To soothe the certain ills of life;

Where, smit with undissembled pain, Grace its lone vales with many a budding roso, The wood-lark mourns her absent love, New founts of bliss disclose,

Borne to the dusty town from native air,
Call forth refreshing shades, and decorate Repose. To mimic rural life, and soothe some vapour'd fair,

From plains and woodlands; from the view But how must faithless Art prevail,
Of rural Nature's blooming face,

Should all who taste our joy sincere,

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