PRICE SIXPENCE.
| Oh! on this green and mossy seat, |
| In my hours of sweet retreat; |
| Thus I would my soul employ, |
| With sense of gratitude and joy. |
| ! farewell! the trumpet calls, The banner waves in view; And I must bid these friendly halls, One long! one last adieu! |
| The dappled herd of grazing deer, That seek the shades by day; Now started from their path with fear, To give the stranger way. |
