May no wolfe howle; no screech owle stir
A wing about thy sepulchre!
No boysterous winds or stormes e hither,
To starve or wither
Thy soft sweet earth! but, like a spring,
Love kept it ever ?ourishing.
HERRICK.
IN the course of an excursion through one of the remote ties of England, I had struto one of those cross-roads that lead through the more secluded parts of the try, and stopped oernoon at a village the situation of which was beautifully rural aired. There was an air of primitive simplicity about its inhabitants not to be found in the villages which lie on the great coach-roads. I determio pass the night there, and, having taken an early dinner, strolled out to enjoy the neighb sery.
My ramble, as is usually the case with travellers, soon led me to the church, which stood at a little distance from the village.
Indeed, it was an object of some curiosity, its old tower being pletely overrun with ivy so that only here and there a jutting buttress, an……（内容加载失败！）
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