Iviii 



MEMOIR. 



Or into silver arrows break, 

 The sailing moon in creek and cove ; 



"Till from the garden and the wild, 

 A fresh association blow, 

 And year by year, the landscape grow 

 Familiar to the stranger's child ; 



" As, year by year, the laborer tills 



His wonted glebe, or lops the glades ; 

 And year by year our memory fades 

 From all the circle of the hills." 



