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Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter, Each noble pants to own the glorious summors He deiga'd to tell them over to a porter And for the charges-Lo! your faithful commons!* The last edition' see, by Long and Co.,

The riots who attended in their places Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the row. (Serendib language calls a farmer Riot)

Look'd ruefully in one another's faces, Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction

From this oration auguring much disquiet, This sultaun, whether lacking contradiction

Double assessment, forage, and free quarters; (A sort of stimulant which hath its uses,

And fearing these as China-men the Tartars, To raise the spirits and reform the juices,

Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers, Sovereign specific for all sort of cures

Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers. In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours,) The sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter, And next came forth the reverend Convocation, Or cordial smooth, for prince's palate fitter Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams

green, With Degial, Gipnistan, and such wild themes Imaum and Mollah there of every station, Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft,

Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. I wot not—but the sultaun never laugh'd,

Their votes were various--some advised a mosque Searce ate or drank, and took a melancholy With fitting revenues should be erected, That scorn'd all remedy, profane or holy;

With seemly gardens and with gay kiosque, In his long list of melancholies, mad,

To recreate a band of priests selected:

Others opined that through the realms a dole Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad.

Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried, The sultaun's weal in body and in soul;

ás e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd room; But their long-headed chief, the sheik Ul-Sofit, With heedful glance the sultaun's tongue they More closely touch'd the point;—“ Thy studious eyed,

mood,” Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside, Quoth he, “ O prince! hath thickened all thy

And then in solemn accents spoke their doom: blood, “ His majesty is very far from well.”

And dull'd thy brain with labour beyond measure; Then each to work with his specific fell:

Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasure, The Hakim Ibrahim instanter brought

And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure; His unguent mahazzim al zerdukkaut,*

From all the cares of state, my liege, enlarge thee, While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, And leave the burthen to thy faithful clergy." Relied on his munaskif al fillfily. More and yet more in deep array appear,

These counsels sage availed not a whit, And some the front assail, and some the rear;

And so the patient (as is not uncommon Their remedies to reinforce and vary,

Where grave physicians lost their time and wit) Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary;

Resolved to take advice of an old woman: Till the tired monarch, though of words grown His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, chary,

And still was call'd so by each subject duteous. Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labour, Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest, Some hint about a bow-string or a sabre.

Or only made believe, I cannot sayThere lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches, But she professed to cure disease the sternest, To rid the palace of those learned leeches. By dint of magic amulet or lay;

And, when all other skill in vain was shown, Then was the council called by their advice, She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. (They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice, And sought to shift it off from their own shoul “ Sympathia magica hath wonders done,” ders,)

(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son,) Tatars and couriers in all speed were sent,

1. It works upon the fibres and the pores, To call a sort of eastern parliament

And thus, insensibly, our health restores, Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders And it must help us here.- Thou must endure Such have the Persians at this very day,

The ill, my son, or travel for the cure, My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai;t

Search land and sea, and gel, where'er you can, I'm not prepared to show in this slight song

The inmost vesture of a happy man, That to Serendib the same forms belong, - I mean his SHIRT, my son, which, taken warm E'en let the learn'd go search, and tell me if I'm and fresh from off his back, shall chase your harm wrong.

Bid every current of your veins rejoice,

Add your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's.' The Omrahs, $ each with hand on scimitar,

Such was the counsel from his mother came. Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for war- I know not if she had some under-game, “ The sabre of the sultaun in its sheath

As doctors have, who bid their patients roam Too long has slept, nor owned the work of death; And live abroad, when sure to die at home; Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of battle! Queen Regent sounded better than queen Mother,

Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's day But, says the chronicle, (who will go look it?) Bhall from his kindled bosom flit away,

That such was her advice the sultaun took it. When the bold Lootie wb:els his courser round, And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. All are on board—the sultaun and his train,

In gilded galley prompt to plough the main: • For these hard words see d'Herbelot, or the learned

I be old rais was the first who questioned, editor of the Recipes of Avicenna.

“ Whither?” + See sir John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia.


They paused" Arabia,” thought the pensive Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, prince,

“ Jean Bool!-1 vas not know him-yes, 1 vas“Was call’d the happy many ages since

I vas remember dat one year or two, For Mokha, rais.":--- And they came safely I saw him at one place called Vaterloo thither.

Ma foi ! il s'est très-joliment battu, But not in Araly with all her balm,

Dat is for Englishman,-m'entendez-vous! Nor where Judæa weeps beneath her palm,

But den be had wit him one damn son-gun, Not in rich Egypt, pot in Nubian waste,

Rogue 1 no like-dey call him Vellington. Could there the step of happiness be traced.

Monsieur's politeness could not hide his fret, One copt alone profess’d to have seen her smile,

So Solimaun took leave and cross'd the streight. When Bruce his goblet fill'd at infant Nile: John Bull was in his very worst of moods, She bless'd the dauntless traveller as he quaff'd, Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods; But vanished from him with the ended draught. His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw,

And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. “ Enough of turbans," said the weary king, “ These dolimans of ours are not the thing;

His wars were ended, and the victory won, Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap,

But then 'twas reckoning-day with honest John, Incline to think some of them must be happy;

And authors vouch 'twas still this worthy's way, At least they have as fair a cause as any can,

“ Never to grumble till he came to pay; They drink good wine, and keep no Ramazan.

And then he always thinks, his temper's such, Then northward, ho!” The vessel cuts the sea,

The work too little, and the pay to much.* And fair Italia lies upon her lee.-

Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty, But fair Italia, she who once unfurled

That when his mortal foe was on the floor, Her eagle-banners o'er a conquered world,

And past the power to harm his quiet more, Long from her throne of domination tumbled,

Poor John had well nigh wept for Bonaparte! Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled;

Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd The pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and lean,

“And who are you,” John answered, “and be And was not half the man he once had been.

d-d?” “ While these the priest and those the noble A stranger, come to see the happiest man,fleeces,

So, seignior, all avouch,-in Frangistan.”+Our poor old boot,"'* they said,“ is torn to pieces. Happy! my tenants breaking on my hand? Its topst the vengeful claws of Austria feel, Unstock'd my pastures, and untillid my land; And the great devil is rending toe and heel. + Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths If happiness you seek, to tell you truly,

The sole consumers of my good broad clothsWe think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli; Happy? why, cursed war and racking tax A tramontane, a heretic,—the buck,

Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs." Poffaredio! still has all the luck;

“In that case, seignior, I may take my leave; By land or ocean never strikes his flag

I came to ask a favour—but I grieve"And then-a perfect walking money-bag.".

“ Favour?” said John, and eyed the sultaun hard, Off set our prince to seek John Bull's abode, It's my belief you came to break the yard ! But first took France-it lay upon the road. But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner,Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion,

Take that, to buy yourself a shirt and dinner." Was agitated like a settling ocean,

With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd But, with due diguity, the sultaun said, him,

“Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline; Only the glory of his house had fail'd him;

A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. Besides, some tumours on his noddle biding,

Seignior, 1 kiss your hands, so fare you well.” Gave indication of a recent hiding.

“ Kiss and be dd,” quoth John, “and go to

hell!” Our prince, though sultauns of such things are heedless,

Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, Thought it a thing indelicate and needless Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg, To ask, if at that moment he was happy,

When the blith bagpipe blew—but soberer now, And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme il faut, a She doucely span her tax and milk'd her cow. Loud voice mustered up, for “ Vive le Ro?!

And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, Then whisperd, “Ave you any news of Nappy?” Nor now of wealth or cleanliness'a pattern, The sultaun answered him with a cross ques- Yet once a month her house was partly swept, tion,

And once a-week a plenteous board she kept. “Pray, can you tell me aught of one John Bull,

And whereas eke the vixen used her claws, That dwells somewhere beyond your herring

And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, pool?”

She now was grown amenable to laws, The query seemed of difficult digestion,

A quiet soul as any in the nation; The party shrugg’d, and grinn’d, and took his snuff, The sole remembrance of her warlike joys And found his whole good breeding scarce enough? Was in old songs she sang to please her boys.

John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife, Twitching his visage into as many puckers She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life, As damsels wont to put into their tuckers, Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour, (Ere liberal fashion damn'd both lace and lawn, Who look'd to the main chance, declined no laand badle the veil of modesty be drawn,)

bour, The well-known resemblance of Italy in the map.

Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon, + Florence, Venice, &c.

And was d close in making of a bargain. The Calabrias, infested by bands of assassins, One of the leaders was called Fra Diavolo, i, e, Brother Devil. * See the True-Born Englishman, by Daniel de Foe.

Or drubbing, so called in the Slang Dictionary. + Europe,



The sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg, Thrice welcome, sage, whose philosophic plan And with decorum curtsied sister Peg;

By Nature's limits metes the rights of man; (She lov'd a book, and knew a thing or two, Generous as he, who now for freetlom bawls, And guess'd at once with whom she had to do.) Now gives full value for true Indian shawls; She bade him “ sit into the fire," and took O'er court, o'er custom-house, his shoe who fling, Her dram, her cake, her kebbock from the nook; Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings. Asked him “ about the news from eastern parts; Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind And of her absent bairns, puir highland hearts! Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind; If peace brought down the price of tea and pepper, Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees, And if the nitmugs were grown ony cheaper? That baulks the snare, yet batiens on the cheese Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe, Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark? Our buckskin'd justices expound the law, If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinning, Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen.” And for the netted partridge noose the swain; Then up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle, And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke In search of goods her customer to nail,

The last light fetter of the feudal yoke, Until the sultaun strain'd his princely throttle,

To give the denizens of wood and wild, And hollow'd—“ Ma'am, that is not what l'ail. Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen?” Hence hast thou mark’d, with grief, fair London's

* Happy!” said Peg; “ What for d’ye want to ken? Besides, just think upon this by-gane year,

Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase, Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh."

And long'd to send them forth as free as when " What say you to the present? -"Meal's sae dear, Pourd o'er Chantilly the Parisian train, To mak their brose my bairns have scarce When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined, aneugh.

And scarce the field-pieces were left bebind! “ The devil take the shirt,” said Solimaun,

A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismayed, “I think my quest will end as it began. On every covey fired a bold brigade; Farewell, ma'am; nay, no ceremony, I beg--"

La douce Humanité approved the sport, “ Ye'll no be for the lipen then?” said Peg. For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt; Now, for the land of verdant Erin,

Shouts patriotic solemnized the day, The sultaun's royal bark is steering,

And Seine re-echoed Vive la Liberte! The Emerald Isle where honest Paddy dwells,

But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again, The cousin of John Bull, as story tells.

With some few added links resumes his chain; For a long space had Jolin, with words of thunder, Then since such scenes to France no more are Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, Come, view with me a hero of thine own!

Till the poor lad, like boy that's floggd unduly, One, whose free actions vindicate the cause
Had gotien somewhat restive and unruly.
Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow,

Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws.
A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow; Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'er-
His landlord, and of middlemen two brace,

Had screw'd his rent up to the starving place; Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse,
His garment was a top-coat, and an old one, Leaving between deserted isles of land,
His meal was a potatoe, and a cold one;

Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand; But still for fun or frolie, and all that,

And lonely on the waste the yew is seen, In the round world was not the match of Pat.

Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green. The sultaun saw him on a holiday,

Here, little worn, and winding dark and sleep, Which is with Paddy still a jolly day:

Our scarce mark'd path descends yon dingle deep: When mass is ended, and his load of sins Follow—but heedful, cautious of a trip. Confess’d, and mother church hath from her binns In earthly nire philosophy may slip, Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit,

Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream, Then is Pat's time for faney, whim, and spirit! Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam, To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free,

We reach the frail yet barricaded door And dance as light as leaf upon the tree, Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor; “ By Mahomet," said sultaun Solimaun,

No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives, “That ragged fellow is our very man!

The walls are watiles, and the covering leares; Rush in and seize him-do not do him hurt, For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, But, will he nill he, let me have his shirt.". Rise in the progress of one night and day, Shilela their plan was well nigh after baulking, (Though placed where still the conqueror's hests (Much less provocation will set it a-walking, )

o'erawe, But the odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy And his son's stirrup, shines the badge of law,) Whack:

The builder claims the unenviable boon, They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripped To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon him-alack!

As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore Up-bubboo! Paddy bad not—a shirt to his back!!! On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.* And the king, disappointed, with sorrow and shame, Went back to Serendib as sad as ho came.

* Such is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, trad.

ing greatly to increase the various stiilements of this THE POACHER.

smugglers, and deer-slealers, who infest it. In the for courts the presiding judge wears as a badge of office an

antique stirrup, said io have been that of William Refres WELCOME, grare stranger, to our green retreats,

See Mr. William Rose's spiriud poem, entitled ** l be Where healih with exercise and freedom meels! Red King."


Approach, and through the unlatticed window The common dread of justice soon allies peep

The clown, who robs the warren or excise, Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep; With sterner felous trained to act more dread, Sunk mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done. Then, -as in plagues the foul contagions pass, Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand, Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand, Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives While round the hut are in disorder laid

draw, The tools and booty of his lawless trade; Their hope impunity, their fear the law; For force or fraud, resistance or escape,

Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same,
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. Till the revenue baulk'd, or pilfered game,
His pilfered powder in yon nook he boards,

Flesh the young culprit, and example leads
And the filch'd lead the church's roof affords To darker villany and direr deeds.
(Hence shall the rector's congregation fret,
That while his sermon's dry, his walls are wet.)

Wild howled the wind the forest glades along,
The fish-spear barb’d, the sweeping net are there, And oft the owl renewed her dismal song;
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare, Red William's spectre walked his midnight round.

Around the spot where erst he felt the wound, Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. Barter'd for game from chase or warren won,

When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look, Yon cask holds moonlight, * run when moon was From the green marshes of the stagnant brook

T'he bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook; none; And late snatch'd spoils lie stow'd in hutch apart, Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam;

The waning-moon, with storm-presaging gleam, To wait the associate higgler's evening cart.

The old oak stooped his arms, then flung them Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest:

high, What scenes perturb’d are acting in his breast!

Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky, His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain, 'Twas then, that, couched amid the brushwood And his dilated nostril toils in vain,

sere, For short and scant the breath each effort draws, In Malwood-walk, young Mansell watched the And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause.

deer: Beyond the loose and sable neck-cloth stretchd, The fattest buck received his deadly shotHis sinewy throat seems by convulsions twitch’d, 'The watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. While the tongue falters, as lo utterance loth, Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their Sounds of dire import-watch-word, threat, and strife, oath.

O'erpowered at length the outlaw drew his knife Though, stupified by toil and drugg'd with gin, Next morn a corpse was found upon the fellThe body sleeps, the restless guest within The rest his waking agony may tell! Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade, Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismayed.

THE DANCE OF DEATH. “ Was that wild start of terror and despair,

Night and morning were at meeting
Those bursting eye-balls, and that wildered air,

Over Waterloo;
Signs of compunction for a murdered hare?
Do the locks bristle and the eye-brows arch,

Cocks had sung their earliest greeting,

Faint and low they crew,
For grouse or partridge massacred in March?”

For no paly beam yet shone
No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe, On the heights of Mount Saint John;
There is no wicket in the gate of law!

Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway
He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar

Of' timeless darkness over day; That awful portal must uudo each bar;

Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride,

Mark'd it a predestined hour.
Will join lo storm the breach, and foree the bar Broad and frequent through the night
rier wide.

Flasheil the sheets of leviu-light;
That ruffian, whom truc men avoid and dread, Muskets, glancing lightnings back,
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Show'd the dreary bivouack

Where the soldier lay,
Was Edward Mansell once;--the lightest heart, Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain,
That ever played on holiday his part!

Wishing dawn of morn again,
The leader he in every ehristmas game,

Though death should come with day. The harvest feast grew blither when he came,

'Tis at such a tide and hour, And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance,

Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, When Edward named the tune and led the dance. And ghastly forms through mist and shower, Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong, Gleam on the gifted ken; Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song;

And then the affrighted prophet's ear And if he loved a gun, his father swore,

Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear, “'Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er, Presaging death and ruin vear Himself had done the same some thirty years be Among the sons of men;-fore.”

Apart from Albyn's war-array, But he, whose humours spurn law's awful yoke,

'I'was then gray Allan sleepless lay; Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are

Gray Allen, who, for many a day,

Had followed stout and stern,

Where through battle's rout and reel,
A cant name for smuggled spirits,

Storm of shot and hedge of steel,

Led the grandson of Lochiel,

Make space full wide Valiant Fassiefern.

For martial pride,
Through steel and shot he leads no more,

For banner, spear, and plume.
Low-laid 'mid friends' and foemen's gore Approach, draw near,
But long his native lake's wild shore,

Proud cuirassier!
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower,

Room for the men of steel! And Morven long shall tell,

Through crest and plate And proud Ben Nevis hear with awe,

The broad-sword's weight, How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,

Both head and heart shall feel. Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra

Wheel the wild dance, Of conquest as he fell.

While lightnings glance, Lone on the outskirts of the host,

And thunders rattle loud, The weary sentinel held post,

And call the brave And heard, through darkness far aloof,

To bloody grave,
The frequent clang of courser's hoof,

To sleep without a shroud.
Where held the cloaked patrole their course, Sons of the spear!
And spurred 'gainst storm the swerving horse; You feel us near,
But there are sounds in Allan's ear,

In many a ghastly dream;
Patrole nor sentinel may hear,

With fancy's eye And sights before his eye aghast

Our forms you spy, Invisible to them have passed,

And hear our fatal scream. When down the destined plain

With clearer sight 'Twixt Britain and the bands of France,

Ere falls the night,
Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance,

Just when to weal or wo
Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance, Your disembodied souls take flight
And doomed the future slain.--

On trembling wing-each startled sprite
Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard, Our choir of death shall know.
When Scotland's James his march prepared
For Flodden's fatal plain;

Wheel the wild dance,

While lightnings glance, Such, wlien he drew his ruthless sword,

And thunders rattle loud, As choosers of the slain, adored

And call the brave
The yet unchristen'd Dane.

To bloody grave,
An indistinct and phantom band,
They wheeled their ring-dance hand in hand,

To sleep without a shroud.
With gesture wild and dread;

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,
The seer, who watched them ride the storm, Redder rain shall soon be ours
Saw through their faint and shadowy.form See, the east grows wan-
The lightnings flash more red;

Yield we place to sterner game,
And still their ghastly roundelay

Ere deadlier bolts and drearer flame Was of the coming battle-fray,

Shall the welkin's thunders shame; And of the destined dead.

Elemental rage is tame

To the wrath of man. Wheel the wild dance,

At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe While lightnings glance,

Heard of the vision's sights he saw, And thunders ratule loud,

The legend heard him say:

But the seer's gifted eye was dim, And call the brave

Deafened his ear, and stark his limb, To bloody grave,

Ere closed that bloody day-To sleep without a shroud.

He sleeps far froin his highland heath,Our airy feet,

But often of the Dance of Death So light and fleet,

His comrades tell the tale They do not bend the rye,

On piquet-post, when ebbs the night, That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave,

And waning watch-fires glow less bright, And swells again in eddying wave,

And dawn is glimmering pale.
As each wild gust blows by;
But still the corn,
Al dawn of morn,

Our fatal steps that bore,

ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me, At eve lies waste,

At the close of the evening through woodlands to A trampled paste

roam, Of blackening mud and gore.

Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me

Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Wheel the wild dance,

Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild While lightnings glance,

speaking, And thunders rattle loud,

The language alternate of rapture and so: And call the brave

Oh! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are To bloody grave,

breaking, To sleep without a shroud.

The pang that I feel at our parting can know. Wheel the wild dance,

Each joy thou couldst double, and when there Brave sous of France!

came sorrow, For you our ring makes room;

Or pale disappointment, to darken my way,


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