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Say, wort thou cradled in the first fair rose 
That did in Paradise its sweets disclose, 
And with superior loveliness arose 
To reign the queen of flowTs ? 
And wert thou rock’d by each soft gale, whose wing 
Caught the rich scent that new-born rose did fling 
O’er Eden’s blissful bowers ? 
Or didst thou spring in after years 
From that fair bow which spann’d the skies, 
When Phoebus, pitying Nature’s tears, 
First gemm’d the falling drops with dyes 
So bright, so fair, that of her grief beguiled 
She gazed upon the vision —gazed and smiled. 
Whate’er thy origin may be, 
Sweet Fancy, thou art dear to me; 
And whether in the sunny glade 
I stray, or pierce the forest-shade; 
Whether I tread the moorlands wide, 
Or track the brooklet’s silver tide, 
Or “ sometimes wander not unseen 
By hedgerow elms, or hillocks green 
Still be thou nigh, companion dear, 
Breathing thy lessons in my ear, 
