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Oft beneath yon tow' ring tree, 

 I thy little form could see 

 With peaceful pleasure, while I lay, 

 Dreaming summer hours away. 



As I'd listen to a friend 

 Who above my couch would bend. 

 I've dwelt upon thy soft clear tone, 

 For then I felt not quite alone. 



Busy Fly, be near me now, 

 While I bend my pensive brow 

 'Gainst yonder aged tree, and hear 

 The gentle sounds of summer near. 



The winds that whisper in the grove. 

 The joyous birds in air that rove, 

 The insects sporting in the shade, 

 The stream that murmurs through the glade, 



These awaken thoughts that dwell 

 Deep in contemplation's cell, 

 And chase the troubles of the brain, 

 While joys departed bloom again. 



Although the evening was not far advanced, the 

 party were satisfied with their sport, and Dr. 

 Hastings proposed that they should ramble for a 

 short time, for the purpose of viewing some of the 

 neighbouring scenery. Human beings, as has been 

 remarked, were but rarely seen in these solitudes, 

 and few were the habitations to be met with amidst 

 the half-deserted rocks. A woodman's hut might 

 here and there be seen, half hidden amongst the 

 thick woods, inhabited by a labourer, employed in 

 cutting firewood, or burning charcoal, or a little 



