(the speaker is a time traveller from the future) Well, lad, I would tell you more, but that's just future history that you must figure out on your own.
'Twas early June, the new grass was flourishing everywheres, the posies in the yard—peonies and such—in full bloom, the sun was shining, and the water of the bay was blue, with light green streaks where the shoal showed.
the Georgean hills, Whoſe tops are couered with Tartarian theeues, That lie in ambuſh, waiting for a pray:
My young love said to me, My mother won’t mind And my father won’t slight you for your lack of kind.
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