_Needwood!_ if e’er my early voice Hath taught thy echoes to rejoice; If e’er my hounds in opening cry Have fill’d thy banks with ecstacy; If e’er array’d in cheerful green Our train hath deck’d thy wintry scene; Ere yet thy wood-wild walks I leave, My tributary verse receive: With thy own wreath my brows adorn, And to thy praises tune my horn! What green-rob’d Nymph, all loose her hair, With buskin’d leg, and bosom bare, Steps lightly down the turfy glades, And beckons tow’rd yon opening shades?— No harlot-form, dissembling guile With wan…
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