II
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hen fades the moon to shadowy-pale,And scuds the cloud before the gale, 10Ere the Morn all gem-bedightHath streak'd the East with rosy light,We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dewsClad in robes of rainbow hues;Or sport amid the shooting gleams 15To the tune of distant-tinkling teams,While lusty Labour scouting sorrowBids the Dame a glad good-morrow,Who jogs the accustom'd road along,And paces cheery to her cheering song. 20
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