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They journeyed on nor fast nor slow, But much as other people do:
And, at an anti-dinner hour, Syntax was seated in a bower,
For bower it was, though we must call
The blooming mansion, Tulip-Hall.
Fresh, balmy sweets were found to breathe
From blushing vase or pendant wreath,
While springing flowers of ev'ry dye Enchanted the admiring eye.
Nor was this all, the landscape's pride
With the gay garden's beauty vied:
Wide spreading groves with lawns between,
In summer foliage, grac'd the scene,
And the glittering streamlets play'd
In eddies through the sunny glade,
While flocks were scatter'd o'er the dale
Where tall pines whisper in the gale,
And midway, in th'ethereal blue, The spire divides the distant view.