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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.
TO THE GNAT.
WHEN by the green-wood side, at summer eve,
And fairy-scenes, that Fancy loves to weave,
-Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly,
No guardian sylph, in golden panoply,
Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear.
ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST. *
TREAD lightly here, for here, 'tis said,
* Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.