BY JOHN DYER Up Grongar Hill I labor now, And reach at last his bushy brow. O, how fresh, how pure the air! Let me breathe a little here; Where am I, Nature? I descry Thy magazine before me lie! Temples and towns and towers and woods, And hills and vales and fields and floods, Crowding before me, edged around With naked wilds and barren … Continue reading The Country Walk