And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th’expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whofe shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way. Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade, Ah fields belov'd in vain, Where once my careless childhood ftray'd, A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As |