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11
DAY, A PASTORAL
11
Morning.—Refreshment.
Trickling thro' the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream distils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.
Trickling thro' the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream distils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.