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As thro' the hedge-row shade the violet steals,
Once more, enchanting girl, adieu!
Mine be a cot beside the hill,
Villula,..........et pauper agelle,
Shepherd, or Huntsman, or worn Mariner,
Dear is my little native vale,
Caged in old woods, whose reverend echoes wake
Tread lightly here, for here, 'tis said,
Dear is that valley to the murmuring bees.
While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels,
Love, under Friendship's vesture white,
Sleep on, and dream of Heav'n awhile.
Oh! that the Chemist's magic art
Oh could my Mind, unfolded in my page,
The sun-beams streak the azure skies,
Delle cose custode, e dispensiera.
The Sailor sighs as sinks his native shore,
CHI SE' TU, CHE VIENI----?
Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight,
On thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers
Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi ponere, pictor?
Immota manet; multosque nepotes,
Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight,
And dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone,
When by the green-wood side, at summer eve,
Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal 
Well may you sit within, and, fond of grief,
Whoe'er thou art, approach, and, with a sigh,
Yes, 'tis the pulse of life! my fears were vain!
While thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs,
There, in that bed so closely curtain'd round,
Blue was the loch,  the clouds were gone,