HARD BY YON WOOD, NOW SMILING AS IN SCORN, MUTTRING HIS WAYWARD FANCIES HE WOULD ROVE; DROOPING, WOFUL-WAN, LIKE ONE FORLORN, OR CRAZ'D WITH CARE, OR CROSSD IN HOPELESS LOVE.
NOW
ONE
HILL.
MORN I MISS'D HIM ON THE CUSTOM D ALONG THE HEATH, AND NEAR HIS FAV'RITE TREE; ANOTHER CAME; NOR YET BE SIDE THE RILL, NOR UP THE LAWN, NOR AT THE WOOD WAS HE: