And ye, that from the ftately brow Of WINDSOR's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey, Whofe turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His filver-winding way. Ah happy hills, ah pleafing fhade, Ah fields belov'd in vain, Where once my carclefs childhood fray'd, A ftranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary blifs beftow, As |