Page:Dear is my little native vale.pdf/2

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DEAR IS MY LITTLE NATIVE VALE.

Dear is my little native vale.
The ring-dove builds and warbles there,
Close by my cot she tells her tale,
To every passing villager?
The squirrel leaps fron tree to tree,
And shells his nuts as liberty.

In orange groves, and myrtle bow'rs,
That breath a gale of fragrance round,
I charm the fairy footed hours
With my love'd lute's romantic sound.
Or crowns of living laurel weave
For those that win the race at eve,

The shepherd's horn at break of day,
The ballot danc'd at twilight glade,
The Canzonet and roundelay,
Sung in the silent greenwood shade:
These simple joys, that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale,