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And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th’expanse below
grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whofe shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way.
Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade,
Ah fields belov'd in vain,
Where once my careless childhood ftray'd,
A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales, that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,