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TO AN EARLY FRIEND.


     Beneath the tree we played
Together, Thou and I! the sunshine fell
Betwixt the boughs, and on our faces laid
A loving finger, marking, where it strayed,
A Dial for the hours, whose very shade
Was but a softened brightness, for the place
Wherein we dwelt was Eden! Through the wild
The man must journey, yet methinks the child
Should stay within the garden! with the Race
Should run the mortal's history, and trace
From those blest bowers its chequered chronicle!

     We played beneath the Tree;
We did not pluck the apple; little taste
Was ours for fruit of knowledge! little haste
To lift unbidden hands when ours were full
Of flowers and purpled berries, beautiful,
That grew around us; but the apple fell
Beside our feet, and through its sight and smell
Instructed, now we good and evil knew,—
So must we bid that pleasant place Farewell.