The dews of summer night did fall.
The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall,
And many an oak that stood thereby.
—Scott.
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How thrills once more the lengthening chain
Of memory, at the thought of thee!
Old hopes which long in dust have lain,
Old dreams come thronging back again,
And boyhood lives in me;
I feel its glow upon my cheek,
It's fullness of the heart is…
Let fate do her worst, there are the relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories…
Dark where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dew-drops--at the bent spray's edge--
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The…
Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumor of oppression and deceit
Of unsuccessful or successful war
Might never reach me more.
—Cowper.
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