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Ne to Syr hight were thee unknown; Oft by the brooke his infant teps they led, And oft the Fays, with many a warbling tone And laughing hape, tood round his morning bed: Such happines bloomd fair around his head. Yet though his mind was formd each joy to tate, From him, alas! dear homefelt Joyaunce fled, Vain meteors till his cheated arms embraced; Where all eemd flowrie gay, he found a dreary waste.

Just when he had his eighteenth ummer een, Lured by the fragrance of the new-mown hay, As carelee auntering through the elm-fenced green, He with his book beguild the cloing day, The dairy-Maide hight frik'd that way; A roguih twinkling look the gypie cat, For much he wihd the lemmans part to play; Nathlee unheeding on his way he pat, Ne enterd in his heart or wih or thought unchat.