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Fancy with prophetic glance Sees the teeming months advance; The field, the forest, green and gay; The dappled slope, the tedded hay; Sees the reddening orchard blow, The Harvest wave, the vintage flow.

Where in venerable rows Widely waving oaks enclose The moat of yonder antique hall, Swarm the rooks with clamorous call; And, to the toils of nature true, Wreath their capacious nests anew.