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Oh dearest, dearest boy! my heart For better lore would seldom yearn Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn.
Written at a small distance from my Home, and sent by my little toy to tie person to -whom they are addressed.
It is the first mild day of March:
There is a blessing in the air,
My Sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Edward will come with you, and pray,
No joyless forms shall regulate
Love, now an universal birth,
One moment now may give us more
Some silent laws our hearta may make,
And from the blessed power that rolls
Then come, my sister! come, I pray,
The FEMALE VAGRANT.
By t)erwent's side my Father's cottage stood,
(The Woman thus her artless story told)
One field, a flock, and what the neighbouring flood
Supplied, to him were more than mines of gold.
Light was my sleep; my days in transport roll'd:
With thoughtless joy I stretch'd along the shore
My father's nets, or from the mountain fold
Saw on the distant lake his twinkling oar
Or watch'd his lazy boat still less'ning more and more.