Around my ivy'd porch shall spring In russet-gown and apron blue. The village-church, among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven. WHEN by the green-wood side, at summer eve, And fairy-scenes, that Fancy loves to weave, -Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly, Unsheaths its terrors in the sultry air! No guardian sylph, in golden panoply, Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spe AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.* TREAD lightly here, for here, 'tis said, -Gone to the world where birds are blest! Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod. P |