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Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
Around my ivy'd porch shall spring
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.
را بر روی
TO THE GNAT.
When by the green-wood side, at summer eve,
-Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly,
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 squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers,
, That breathe a gale of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours With my loved lute's romantic sound; Or crowns of living laurel weave, For those that win the race at eve.
The shepherd's horn at break of day,