“Not there! Not there! my Giles!”
“Is it far away in some distant spot,
This promised parcel of garden plot?
Where nothing is heard but the murmuring bees,
And the sound of the wind among the trees;
Where no turnips are planted, or apples grown,
Or the fruits of the earth in season sown;
Where the land is idle, and nought is seen
But the fragrant flowers and woodland green,
And the sun shines down on a desolate spot,—