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What could I do, unaided and unblest?
I led a wandering life among the fields ;
VOL. I. '
Three years thus wandering, often have I view'd,
WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.
I heard a thousand blended notes,
To her fair works did Nature link
Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The birds around me hopp'd and play'd :
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
If I these thoughts may not prevent,
THE OLD HUNTSMAN,
With an incident in which he was concerned.
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,