"Blithe were it then to wander here!
But now-beshrew yon nimble deer-
Like that same hermit's, thin and spare,
The copse must give my evening fare;
305 Some mossy bank my couch must be,
Some rustling oak my canopy.
Yet pass we that; the war and chase
Give little choice of resting-place-
A summer night, in greenwood spent,
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