Mine Be A Cot Beside The Hill, A Bee-Hive'S Hum Shall Sooth My Ear; A Willowy Brook, That Turns A Mill, With Many A Fall Shall Linger Near. The Swallow, Oft, Beneath My Thatch, Shall Twitter From Her Clay-Built Nest; Oft Shall The Pilgrim Lift The Latch, And Share My Meal, A Welcome Guest. Around My Ivy'D Porch Shall Spring Each Fragrant Flower That Drinks The Dew; And Lucy, At Her Wheel, Shall Sing In Russet Gown And Apron Blue. The Village-Church, Among The Trees, Where First Our Marriage-Vows Were Giv'N, With Merry Peals Shall Swell The Breeze, And Point With Taper Spire To Heav'N.