WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF EDEN, NEAR CARLISLE; WHERE A FAVOURITE GROVE HAD BEEN CUT DOWN.

This spot I dearly lov'd to see!
'Twas childhood's paradise to me;
And more than thrice ten times the sun
His annual course hath run,
Since first this bank, crown'd by a wood,
I saw reflected in the flood;
And mark'd the early shelter'd primrose spring:
Then tore it from its mossy seat,
And sought the town, with nimble feet,
More proud than any king.

This spot I dearly lov'd to see,
Where warbling songsters wanton'd free!
And fancy oft hath drawn the scene,
The lawn, and meadows green;
The distant hamlet, darken'd glen--
Ev'n midst the noisy haunts of men,
When manhood's seasons wing'd with pleasure flew,
The hazle copse, where oft the nest
I prying sought with panting breast,
Were ever in my view!

This spot I dearly lov'd to see,
When from youth's daily labour free!
Here would I trace on many a page,
The follies of the age:
Or fondly listen friendship's voice;
Or deem my fair a matchless choice;
But dreamt not love and friendship soon decay:
A heartless pilgrim, now, I mourn
The joys long fled, ne'er to return,
And sigh the hours away!

This spot I dearly lov'd to see,
Where lovers' names grew on each tree!
Ah! Infancy, thy scenes are dear,
And call forth many a tear!
Fall'n are the trees that form'd a shade,
Where oft contemplative I stray'd;
Or tun'd my pipe to strains of mirth and love.
The stately oak, the humble flow'r,
That bloom and perish in an hour,
Man's short existence prove!