Goldsmith, Oliver, 1728-1774 · Hildesheimer and Faulkner · leaf 13
of the blissful hour!Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrants power.Here, as I take my solitary rounds,Amidst thy tangling- walks, and ruined grounds,And, many a year elapsed, return to viewWhere once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,Swells at my breast,… … Amidst the swains to show mybook-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw,And tell of all I felt, and all I saw.And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,I still had hopes, my long vexations past,Here to return—and die at home at…
Irish poetry -- 19th century · Etchings -- English
Internet Archive · Boston Library Consortium · Public Domain Mark 1.0. Free to use for anything.
