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Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
All, all are fled; yet still I linger here !
Mark yon old Mansion frowning thro' the trees,
See, thro’ the fractured pediment revealed,
As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call !
Now stained with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung,
And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear.
Ye Household Deities ! whose guardian eye
As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,
As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove, What fond illusions swarm in every grove! How oft, when purple evening tinged the west, We watched the emmet to her grainy nest; Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing, Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring ! How oft inscribed, with Friendship's votive rhyme, The bark now silvered by the touch of Time; Soared in the swing, half pleased and half afraid, Thro' sister elms that waved their summer-shade;