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In the June of 1797, some long-expected Friends paid a visit to the Author's Cottage; and on the morning of their arrival, he met with an accident, which disabled him from walking during the whole time of their stay. One Evening, when they had left him for a few hours, he composed the following lines in the Garden-Bower.

, they are gone, and here must I remain, This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison! I have lost

Most sweet to my remembrance, even when age Had dimmed mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,

On springy heath, along the hill-top edge, Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, And only speckled by the mid-day Sun; Where its slim trunk the Ash from rock to rock Flings arching like a Bridge;—that branchless Ash, Errata