Oft I've invok'd th' Aönian quire,
And Phoebus oft in vain,
Like thee, my friend, to tune my lyre,
Like thee to raise my strain:
...
Freely I'd give ye cups of gold,
Rich with the curious works of old;
With coins and medals I'd present ye,
And send ye rings and seals in plenty;
...
True, she was sweet, and lovely in thine eyes,
Like some fair flower that blooms awhile, and dies:
Yet O forbear thy heart--felt pangs to shew
...
``Come and listen to my ditty.''
On that fam'd and ancient station
Where to Thames the Medway runs,
When in lawless combination
...
With pining sickness worn, her beauty fled,
Hither my Charlotte's trembling steps I led;
Meek and resign'd, from this salubrious well
...
Keen was the blast, and bleak the morn,
When Lucy took her way,
To seek the wretch, whose perjur'd vows
Had led her youth astray:
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Miller, whom fair Ierne bore
To grace Britannia's happier shore,
Whose Genius guides, whose counsel guards
The labours of Bathonian bards,
...
O ponder well, ye serving Maids,
The doleful Tale I sing:
Learn how disastrous 'tis to wear
Too high your Apron string:
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Sweet are yon' hills that crown this fertile vale!
Ye genial springs! Pierian waters, hail!
...
We all are a wonderful distance from home!
Two hundred and sixty long miles are we come!
And sure you'll rejoice, my dear mother, to hear
...