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119

J.
Along the swath with even side,
The meadow flow'rs have fall'n and died,
And wither'd, rustling dry;
And in between the hay-wale's backs,
The waggon wheels have cut their tracks,
With loads of hay built high,

F.
and bound,
And ev'ry rick with peakèd crown,
Is now down-toned to yellow brown,
And sunburnt, two-thirds round.