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SPENCER WOOD
Through thy green groves and deep receding bowers,
Loved Spencer Wood! how often have I strayed,
Or mused away the calm, unbroken hours,
Beneath some broad oak's cool, refreshing shade
There, not a sound disturbed the tranquil scene,
Save welcome hummings of the roving bee,
That quickly flitted o'er the tufted green,
Or where the squirrel played from tree to tree.
And I have paused beside that dimpling stream,
Which slowly winds thy beauteous groves among
Till from its breast retired the sun's last beam,
And every bird had ceased its vesper song.
The blushing arbors of those classic days,
Through which the breathings of the slender reed,
First softly echoed with Arcadia's praise,
Might well be pictured in this sheltered mead.
And blest were those who found a happy home
In thy loved shades, without one throb of care -
No murmurs heard, save from the distant foam
That rolled in column's o'er the great Chaudiere.
And I have watched the moon in grandeur rise
Above the tinted maple's leafy breast,
And take her brillant pathway through the skies,
Till half the world seemed lulled in peaceful rest.