[Netjack-list] holiday; Like a running river be; My love is dead,

[Ockerman <leg...@d-...>]

 what this place might be I then inquired. The Shepherd stopped, and
that same story told Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed; 'A jolly
place,' said he, 'in times of old! But something ails it now; the spot
is curst. 'You see those lifeless stumps of aspen wood-- Some say that
they are beeches, others elms-- These were the bower; and here a mansion
stood, The finest palace of a hundred realms! 'The arbour does its own
condition tell; You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream; But as
to the great lodge! you might as well Hunt half the day for a forgotten
dream. 'There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep, Will wet his
lips within that cup of stone; And oftentimes when all are fast asleep,
This water doth send forth a dolorous groan. 'Some say that here a
murder has been done, And blood cries out for blood; but for my part
I've guessed, when I've been sitting in the sun, That it was all for
that unhappy Hart. 'What thoughts must through the creature's brain have
past! Even from the topmost stone upon the steep, Are but three
bounds--and look, Sir, at this last-- O master! it has been a cruel
leap. 'For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; And in my simple mind
we cannot tell What cause the Hart might have to love this place, And
come and make his death-bed near the well. 'Here on the grass, perhaps,
asleep he sank, Lulled by the fountain in the summer tide