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of the woods! thou art hid no more, From Heaven's clear eye, as in time of yore! For the roof hath sunk from thy mossy walls, And the sun's free glance on thy slumber falls; And the dim tree-shadows across thee pass, As the boughs are sway'd o'er thy silvery glass; And the reddening leaves to thy breast are blown, When the autumn wind hath a stormy tone; And thy bubbles rise to the flashing rain— Bright Fount! thou art nature's own again!