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ON ANGLING. '2'69
And when we've seen each rocky dale,
Where hang the dews of morn, Each winding, deep, romantic vale,
Each snow-white blossom'd thorn ; From every charm I'll turn to you,
And think my loving bride More sweet than aught that meets my view
By charming Wansbeck side. |
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LINE S,
When smiling felicity warbles her song,
The soul-touching numbers harmoniously flowr
The moments of gladness come swiftly along, And bid all the feelings of ecstacy glow.
Thus, reclined with his rod, by the banks of a brook The swain of the mountains melodiously sung ; Joy trilled in the sound of his musical tongue,
The sunshine of happiness beamed in his look. |
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The Bard of Glamorgan. |
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