Though deep shades delight me, yet love is my food,
As I call the dear name of my Joe;
His musical shout is the pride of the wood,
And my heart leaps to hear the--Hallo.
Simple flowers of the grove, little birds live at ease,
I wish not to wander from you;
I'll still dwell beneath the deep roar of your trees,
For I know that my Joe will be true.
The trill of the robin, the coo of the dove,
Are charms that I'll never forego;
But resting through life on the bosom of love,
Will remember the Woodland Hallo.
[Illustration: a woman with a basket walking past a cottage]
BARNHAM WATER
Fresh from the Hall of Bounty sprung,[1]
With glowing heart and ardent eye,
With song and rhyme upon my tongue,
And fairy visions dancing by,
The mid-day sun in all his pow'r
The backward valley painted gay;
Mine was a road without a flower,
Where one small streamlet cross'd the way.
[Footnote 1: On a sultry afternoon, late in the summer of 1802,
Euston-Hall lay in my way to Thetford, which place I did not reach until
the evening, on a visit to my sister: the lines lose much of their
interest except they could be read on the spot, or at least at a
coresponding season of the year.
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