Embower’d by branches green—a vocal shade,
Where all the livelong week to solitude
Gay plumaged birds their cheerful music made.
How often have we there together strayed,
In sweet retirement long hours to spend—
To listen to the warbled serenade,
Or talk of many a dear departed friend;
Or, to our absent ones, our wishful thoughts to send.
XVII.
O, that my friends would ever think of me