Yes, Holly-Bush!—here fled too fast
Fair hours, most valued now they’re past.
But not, in my regard, import
These structures of a prouder sort;
And former fondness ill can brook
This order’d dress and inland look;[[86]]
Thy flowery copse and bowers make room
For alien shrubs and new perfume;
Thy meek rill swells with glaring brim;
Thy rude paths march through gardens trim;