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Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say,
• Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
• Brushing with hafty steps the dews away
« To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
• There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
. His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
• Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
. Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
. Or craz’d with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
One morn I miss’d him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath and near his fav’rite tree;
Another came ; 'nor yet beside the rill,
« Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ;
• The next with dirges due in fad array
• Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him born,
Approach and read (for thou can'ft read) the lay,
• Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn,
Τ Η Ε Ε Ρ Ι Τ Α Ρ Η.
Large was his bounty, and his soul fincere,
Heav'n did a recompençe as largely send :
He gave to Mis’ry all he had, a tear,
from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend,
No farther seck his merits to disclose,
Or draru bis frailties from their dread abode,
(* There they alike in trembling lope reposé,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
Petrarcb. Son. 114.
F I N I S.