BARCOMBE MILL, near LEWES

Whoe'er the flow'ry fields delight,
Or softly purling rill;
Him the kind dryads all invite,
To visit Barcombe Mill.

Delightful spot! where all combines,
With joy the breast to fill!
And bids the Bard, in gentle lines,
Praise lovely Barcombe Mill.

Delightful spot! in childhood's days,
Ere yet I taught the quill
To sport in unambitious lays,
I lov'd sweet barcombe Mill!

Here oft' in rustic games, the hours
made the glad breast to thrill;
At noon-day's heat, cool were the bowers
Encircling Barcombe Mill.

Here oft', with souls attuned to play,
In joys unknown to ill;
We frolick'd down the chearful day,
And hail'd sweet Barcombe Mill.

Ah! these dear days! how quickly o'er!
(Ah! had they lasted still)
The Bard can ne'er partake them more,
Not ev'n at Barcombe Mill!

Yet, will he sing the pleasing spot,
The varied dale and hill;
Nor shall the pleasures be forgot,
He has known at Barcombe Mill.

For still enraptur'd doth he trace,
The meads beside the rill;
And view with pleasure every grace,
Around sweet Barcombe Mill!

Still doth he tread with glee the bow'rs,
Refreshing, cool, and still;
And sweet reflection crowns the hours
He spends at Barcombe Mill.