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There, at the foot of yonder nodding beach,
That wreacho ito old fantastis roots so high, His listlefe lungth
at noon-wide would he trench And pore upon the brook that bubbles ly.
Publifbed Sept.28.1796. by Verner&Hood.
On, fome fond breaft the parting soul relies,
For thee who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may fay, “ Oft have we seen him, at the peep
of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, “ To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
There, at the foot of yonder nodding beach, “ That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, “ His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, “ And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.
“ Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in fcorn,
“ One morn I miss’d him on the 'custom'd hill,
• The next, with dirges due, in fad array,
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay “ Gravid on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
Large was his bounty, and his soul fincere,
No further seek his merits to disclose,