How fond the rustics ear at leisure dwells
On the soft soundings of his village bells
As on a sunday morning at his ease
He takes his rambles just as fancys please
Down narrow baulks that interscet the fields
Hid in profusions that its produce yields
Long twining peas in faintly misted greens
& winged leaf multitudes of crowding beans
& flighty oatlands of a lighter hue
& speary barley bowing down with dew
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