Page:Arethusa.pdf/7

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E around the huge oak that o’ershadows yon mill, The fond ivy had dar’d to entwine; Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill, Ere a rook built his nest on the pine,

Could I trace back the time, a far distant date. Since my forefathers toil’d in this field; And the farm I now hold on your honour’s estate, Is the same that my grandfather till’d.

He, dying, bequeath’d to his son a good name. Which unsullied descended to me; For my child I’ve preserv’d it, unblemish’d with shame, And it still from a spot shall be free.

By the gaily circling glass, We can see how minutes pass, By the hollow flask we’re told, How the waning night grows old. Soon, too soon, the busy day Drives us from our sport away; What have we with day to do? Sons of care, ’twas made for you.