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So it indeed appears.—My wayward friend Has from his home been absent. Yesterday, There and elsewhere I sought, but found him not. This morning by the dawn again I sought him, Thinking to find him surely and alone; But his domestics, much amazed, have told me, He is not yet return'd.

Hush! through yon thicket I perceive a man.

Some thief or spy.

Let us withdraw awhile, And mark his motions; he observes us not.

Sweet light of day, fair sky, and verdant earth, Enrich'd with every beauteous herb and flower, And stately trees, that spread their boughs like tents For shade and shelter, how I hail ye now! Ye are His works, who made such fair abodes For happy innocence, yet, in the wreck Of foul perversion, has not cast us off. (Stooping to look at the flowers.)