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Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 225
I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but -
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
I'll venture, for my new inliven'd spirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.

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By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroider'd vale,
Where the love-lorn nightingale

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Com. I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to fide, My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood; And if your slray-attendence be yet lodg’d, 315 Or shroud within these limits, I shall know - Ere

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