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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,
An Old Man dwells, a little man, · I've heard he once was tall.
Of years he has upon his back,
A long blue livery-coat has he, That's fair behind, and fair before; Yet, meet him where you will, you see At once that he is poor. Full five-and-twenty years he lived A running Huntsman merry; And, though he has but one eye left, His cheek is like a cherry.
No man like him the horn could sound, And no man was so full of glee; To say the least, four counties round Had heard of Simon Lee; His Master's dead, and no one now Dwells in the hall of Ivor; . Men, Dogs, and Horses, all are dead; He is the sole survivor.
And he is lean and he is sick,
He all the country could outrun,