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WHEN last I roved these winding wood-walks
green, Green winding walks, and shady pathways
sweet, Oft-times would Anna seek the silent Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat. No more I hear her footsteps in the shade : Her image only in these pleasant ways Meets me self-wandering, where in happier days I held free converse with the fair-hair'd maid. I passed the little cottage which she loved, The cottage which did once my all contain ; It spake of days which ne'er must come again, Spake to my heart, and much my heart was moved. “ Now fair befall thee, gentle maid !” said I, And from the cottage turned me with a sigh.
A TIMID grace sits trembling in her eye,
If from my lips some angry accents fell,
THE FAMILY NAME.
What reason first imposed thee, gentle name, Name that my father bore, and his sire's
sire, Without reproach? we trace our stream no
higher ; And I, a childless man, may end the same. Perchance some shepherd on Lincolnian plains, In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks, Received thee first amid the inerry
mocks And arch allusions of his fellow swains. Perchance from Salem's holier fields returned, With glory gotten on the heads abhorr'd Of faithless Saracens, some martial lord Took his meek title, in whose zeal he burn'd. Whate'er the fount whence thy beginnings came, No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name.
TO JOHN LAMB, Esg.
OF THE SOUTH-SEA-HOUSE.
JOHN, you were figuring in the gay career
you, and I, and one more, only know.
Even te To be