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ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.*
TREAD lightly here, for here, 'tis said,
Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.
DEAR is my little native vale,
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; Close by my cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.
In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers,
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
TO THE BUTTERFLY.
CHILD of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight,
THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND,
SEPTEMBER 2, 1812.
BLUE was the loch, the clouds were gone,
Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees,
The fairy-isles fled far away;