To my heart there is no dearer spot upon earth, Than Newton-le-Willows, the place of my birth! Oh! The world has allurements to tempt us to roam, But it cannot supply the endearments of home. Dear Newton! Ill sing of thy sylvan retreats, Of thy lanes, and thy tree-shaded dwellings and streets, Of thy bridge oer the brook with its vista of bloom– A vision of beauty and store of perfume! I will sing of thy ancient, historical hall Near the old ruined mill with its miniature falls The strangers…
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