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That once I was, (how many years gone by We shall not say,) you should to this poor hold,— To these old walls which your fair presence brightens, A rousing welcome have. But times are changed, And fashion now makes all things dull and spiritless.

My welcome, as it is, gives me such pleasure, I will not think of what it might have been. Your daughter has received me with a kindness Which has already freed me from restraint, And given me courage to express my pleasure.

Thanks to thee, gentle friend! so may I call thee, Knowing so well thy worth. Might we retain thee Some weeks beneath our roof, then we might boast That our poor welcome had not miss'd its aim.

Some weeks! We'll try to turn those weeks to months, And then, who knows but that our mountain soil