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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
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.