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III.
Ours is no mansion hid with antique oaks,
And hung with tap'stry, by our mothers wove,
Telling the history of the Holy Wars,
Or knights achievements in the tented field.
—'Tis a plain cottage—in a garden set;
Humble, yet graceful, on the mossy banks
Of winding Towy; near the circling bay,
That stretches wide, begirt with rocks, that throw
Their evening shadows o'er the azure deep.
Claude would have linger'd on the fairy scene,
And felt transported to Ausonian land!
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