| ARIA TENORE |
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Let me wander, not unseen, by hedgerow elms, on hillocks green: There the ploughman, near at hand, whistles over the furrowed land. And the milkmaid singeth blithe, and the mower whets his scythe, and every shepherd tells his tale, under the hawthorn in the dale. |
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Or let the merry bells ring round, and the jocund rebecks sound, to many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the checquered shade. |
