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For oh, how grateful to a wounded heart
The tale of mifery to impart!
From others' eyes bid artless forrows flow,
And raise esteem upon the base of woe!
Ev'n He*, the nobleft of the tuneful throng,
Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear,
Shall catch the loft contagion of my song.
And pay my penfive Muse the tribute of a tear.

§ 106. An Ode to Narciffa. SMOLLET. THY fatal (hafts unerring move;

I bow before thine altar, Love!
I feel thy foft refiftlefs flame
Glide fwift thro' all my vital frame!
For while I gaze my bofom glows,
My blood in tides impetuous flows;
Hope, fear, and joy, alternate roll,
And floods of tranfport whelm my foul!
My fault ring tongue attempts in vain
In foothing murmurs to complain;
My tongue fome fecret magic ties,
My murmurs fink in broken fighs!
Condemn'd to nurse eternal care,
And ever drop the filent tear;
Unheard I mourn, unknown I figh,
Unfriended live, unpitied die!

107. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus. SMOLLET. W THERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams of


Fir'd with a zeal peculiar, they defy
The rage and rigour of a polar fky,
And plant fuccefsfully fweet Sharon's rofe
On icy plains, and in eternal fnows.
Oh, bleft within th' inclosure of your rocks,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks;
No fertilizing streams your fields divide.
That fhew revers'd the villas on their fide;
No groves have ye; no cheerful found of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of thofe that walk at ev'ning where you dwell:
But winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits abfolute on his unfhaken throne;
Piles up his ftores amidst the frozen wafte,
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast;
Beckons the legions of his ftorms away
From happier fcenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the foil a conqueft he has won,
And fcorns to fhare it with the distant fun.

Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied ifle;
And peace, the genuine offspring of her fmile:
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;
That decks with all the splendour of the true
A falfe religion-is unknown to you.
Nature indeed vouchfafes for our delight
The fweet viciffitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here;
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,
That fhoot into your darkest caves the day
From which our nicer optics turn away.

$109. On Slavery, and the Slave Trade. CowPER.
BUT, ah! what with can profper, or what


For merchants, rich in cargoes of despair,
Who drive a loath fome traffic, gage and fpan,
And buy the muscles and the bones of man?

Monimia, give my foul her wonted rest:
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
Heart-gnawing cares corrode my penfive breaft.
Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,
With feftive fongs beguile the fleeting hour,
Lead beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,
Or prefs her wanton in love's roseate bow'r.
For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead,The tender ties of father, husband, friend,
Where thepherds pipe and virgins dance around, All bonds of nature in that moment end;
Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade, And each endures, while yet he draws his breath,
To hear the music of the grove refound.
A ftroke as fatal as the fcythe of death.
I'll feek fome lonely church, or dreary hall, The fable warrior, frantic with regret
Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue,Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Where damps hang mould ring on the ivy'd wall, Lofes in tears the far receding shore,
And theeted gholts drink up the midnight dew: But not the thought, that they must meet no
Awhile in filence o'er my fate repine: [pair, Yes, to deep fadnefs fullenly refign'd,
There, leagu'd with hopeless anguish and def-Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow, [more.

Then, with a long farewel to love and care,
To kindred dust my weary limbs confign.
Wilt thou, Monimia, fhed a gracious tear
On the cold grave where all my forrows reft;
Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love fincere,
And bid the turf lie easy on my breast?

What has he left that he can yet forego?

He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his gen'rous nature, and to fuit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
Oh most degrading of all ills that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate!
All other forrows virtue may endure,
And find submission more than half a cure;

§ 108. The Propagation of the Gospel in Greenland. Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd

CowPER. T'improve the fortitude that bears a load; AND ftill it spreads. See Germany fend forth To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase, Her fons, to pour it on the fartheft north+: The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace.

* Lord Lyttleton:

†The Moravian missionaries in Greenland; Vide Krantz.


But flav'ry-virtue dreads it as her grave;
Patience itself is meannefs, in a flave:
Or if the will and fovereignty of God
Bid fuffer it awhile, and kifs the rod;
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And fnap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we fee,
That has a heart, and life in it, Be free!
The beats are charter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse:
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack,
And, confcious of an unencumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein,
Loote fy his forelock and his ample mane;
Refponfive to the diftant neigh he neighs,
Nor ftops till, overleaping all delays,
He finds the pafture where his fellows graze.

$110. On Liberty, and in Praife of Mr. Howard.

O could I worship ought beneath the skies
That earth hath feen, or fancy could devife,
Thine altar, facred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand.
With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair
As ever drefs'd a bank, or fcented fummer air.
Duly as ever on the mountain's height
The peep of morning fhed a dawning light;
Again, when evening in her fober vest
Drew the grey curtain of the fading Weft;
My foul fhould yield thee willing thanks and
For the chief bleflings of my faireft days: [praife
But that were facrilege-praife is not thine,
But his who gave thee, and preferves thee mine:
Elfe I would fay, and as I ipake bid fly
A captive bird into the boundlefs fky,
This triple realm adores thee-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home;
We feel thy force ftill active, at this hour
Enjoy immunity from priestly pow'r;
While confcience, happier than in ancient years,
Owns no fuperior but the God the fears.
Propitious Spirit! yet expunge a wrong
Thy rites have fuffer'd, and our land, too long;
Teach mercy to ten thoufand hearts that thare
The fears and hopes of a commercial care:
Prifons expect the wicked, and were built
To bind the lawlefs, and to punish guilt;
But fhipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood,
Are mighty mifchiefs, not to be withstood:
And honeft merit ftands on flipp'ry ground
Where covert guile, and artifice abound:
Let juft reftraint, for public peace defign'd,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind;
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,
But let infolvent innocence go free.

Patron of elfe the moft defpis'd of men,
Accept the tribute of a ftranger's pen;
Verfe, like the laurel, its immortal meed,
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed :
I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame
(Charity chofen as my theme and aim)
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Bleft with all wealth can give thee to refign
Joys, doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine;

To quit the blifs thy rural fcenes bestow
To feek a nobler, amidft fcenes of woe; [home,
To traverse feas, range kingdoms, and bring
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge, fuch as only dungeons teach,
And only fympathy like thine could reach;
That grief, fequefter'd from the public ftage,
Might fmooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage-
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel,
Oh that the voice of clamour and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
Were hush'd, in favour of thy gen'rous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's fmile thy fee!

§ 111. On Demeftic Happiness, as the Friend of
Virtue; and of the falje Good-nature of the

D° OMESTIC happiness, thou only blifs
Of Paradife that has furviv'd the fall!
Tho' few now tafte thee unimpair'd and pure,
Or, tafting, long enjoy thee; too infirm
Or too incautious to preferve thy fweets
Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper fheds into thy chrystal cup.
Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth the is,
Heaven-born, and destin'd to the fkies again.
Thou art not known where Pleafure is ador'd,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless wait
And wand'ring eyes, ftili leaning on the arm
Of Novelty, her fickle, frail fupport;
For thou art meek and conftant, hating change
And finding in the calm of truth-tied love
Joys that her formy raptures never yield.
Forfaking thee, what thipwreck have we made
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown,
Till proftitution elbows us afide
In all our crowded streets, and fenates seem
Conven'd for purpofes of empire lefs
Than to release th' adult refs from her bond!
Th' adult'refs! what a theme for angry verle,
What provocation to the indignant heart
That feels for injur'd love! But I disdain
The naufeous talk to paint her as the is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her fhame.
No. Let her país; and, charioted along,
In guilty fplendour thake the public ways:
The frequency of crimes has wafh'd them white;
And verfe of mine thall never brand the wretch
Whom matrons now, of character unfmirch'd,
And chafte themselves, are not afham'd to own,
Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time
Not to be pafs'd; and the that had renounc'd
Her fex's honour, was renounc'd herself
By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's fake,
But Diguity's refentful of the wrong.
Twas hard, perhaps, on here and there a waif
Defirous to return, and not receiv'd;
But was an wholefome rigour in the main,
And taught th' unblemih'd to preferve with
That purity, whofe lofs was lofs of all.
Men too were nice in honour in thofe days,
| And judg'd offenders well: and he that tharp'd
And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd,



Was mark'd, and fhunn'd as odious. He that fold
His country, or was flack when the requir'd
His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,
Paid with the blood that he had basely spar'd
The price of his default. But now-yes, now,
We are become fo candid and so fair,
So liberal in conftruction, and fo rich
In Chriftian charity, a good-natur'd age!
That they are fafe: finners of either fex [bred,
Tranfgrefs what laws they may. Well drefs'd,well
Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough
To pafs us readily through ev'ry door.
Hypocrify, deteft her as we may,
(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet)
May claim this merit ftill, that the admits
The worth of what the mimics with fuch care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applaufe:
But he has burnt her masks, not needed here,
Where vice has fuch allowance, that her shifts
And specious semblances have loft their use.

§ 112. On the Employments of what is called an
Idle Life.
How various his employments whom the world

Calls idle,
in return,
Efteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Drefs'd to his taste, inviting him abroad—
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?
Me therefore, ftudious of laborious ease,
Not flothful; happy to deceive the time,
Nor waste it, and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When he thall call his debtors to account
From whom are all our bleifings-bufinefs finds
Ev'n here. While fedulous I feek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd
The mind he gave me; driving it, though flack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By caufes not to be divulg'd in vain,
To its just point-the fervice of mankind.
He that attends to his interior felf,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and fupplies it; and who feeks
A social, not a diffipated life-

Has bufinets; feels himself engag'd t' achieve
No unimportant, though a filent talk.
A life all turbulence and noife may feem,
To him that leads it, wife, and to be prais'd;
But wifdom is a pearl with moft fuccefs
Sought in ftill water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in storms
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly induftrious, a difgraceful prize.

113. The Poft comes in-the News paper is
read-The World contemplated at a distance.

HARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder
That with its wearifome but needful length

Beatrides the wint'ry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
He comes, the heraid of a noify world, [locks,
With fpatter'd boots, ftrapp'd waift, and frozen
News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.
True to his charge, the clofe-pack'd load behind
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the deftin'd inn;
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pafs on.
He whittles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold, and yet cheerful; meffenger of grief
Perhaps to thoufands, and of joy to some;
To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy.
Houfes in afhes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epiles wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Faft as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg`d with am'rous fighs of abfent fwains,
Or nymphs refpontive, equally affect
His horfe and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh th' important budget! ufher'd in
With fuch heart-thaking mufic, who can fay
What are its tidings: have our troops awak'd!
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd,

Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does the wear her plum'd
And jewell'd turban with a fmile of peace,
Or do we grind her ftill? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wifdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh-I long to know them all;
I burn to fet th' imprifon'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.

Now itir the fire, and close the fhutters faft
Let fall the curtains, wheel the fofa round,
And while the bubbling and lou !-hiffing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.
Not fuch his ev'ning who, with thining face,
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and fqueez'd,
And bor'd with elbow-points thro'both his fides,
Outfcolds the ranting actor on the stage.
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen all tranquillity and fimiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not ev'n critics criticife, that holds
Inquifitive attention, while I read,

Fait bound in chains of filence, which the fair,
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break-
What is it but a map of bufy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vaft concerns?
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge
That tempts ambition. On the fummit, fee
The feals of office glitter in his eyes; [heels,
He climbs, he pants, he grafps them. At his
Clofe at his heels, a demagogue afcends,
And with a dext'rous jerk foon twifts him down,
And wins them, but to lofe them in his turn.

Here rills of oily cloquence in foft
Meanders lubricate the courfe they take:
The modeft fpeaker is atham'd and griev`d


T'engrofs a moment's notice: and yet begs, Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, However trivial all that he conceives. Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praife: The dearth of information and good fenfe That it foretels us, always comes to pass. Cataracts of declamation thunder here, There forests of no meaning fpread the page In which all comprehenfion wanders loft; While fields of pleasantry amufe us there With merry defcants on a nation's woes. The reft appears a wilderness of strange But gay confufion-rofes for the cheeks And lilies for the brows of faded age, Teeth for the toothlefs, ringlets for the bald, Heaven,earth,andocean plunder'dof theirfweets, Nectareous effences, Olympian dews; Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, Æthereal journies, fubmarine exploits, And Katterfelto, with his hair on end At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. 'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat To peep at fuch a world: to fee the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd: To hear the roar the fends through all her gates At a fafe distance, where the dying found Falls a foft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear. Thus fitting, and furveying thus at ease The globe and its concerns, I feem advanc'd To some fecure and more than mortal height. That lib'rates and exempts me from them all. It turns fubmitted to my view, turns round With all its generations; I behold The tumult, and am ftill; the found of war Has loft its terrors ere it reaches me; Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride And av'rice that makes man a wolf to man, Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats By which he speaks the language of his heart, And figh, but never tremble at the sound. He travels and expatiates, as the bee From flow'r to flow'r, fo he from land to land; The manners, cuftoms, policy of all Pay contribution to the ftore he gleans; He fucks intelligence in ev'ry clime, And spreads the honey of his deep research At his return, a rich repaft for me! He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Afcend his topmaft, through his peering eyes Discover countries, with a kindred heart Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes: While fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runs the great circuit, and is still at home:

§ 114. A fragment MALLET. FAIR morn afcends: freth zephyr's breath Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath, Where, fown profufely, herb and flow'r, Of balmy smell, of healing pow'r, Their fouls in fragrant dews exhale, And breathe fresh life in ev'ry gale. Here fpreads a green expanfe of plains, Where, fweetly penfive, Silence reigns;

And there, at utmost stretch of eye,
A mountain fades into the sky;
While winding round, diffus'd and deep,
A river rolls with founding sweep.
Of human art no traces near,
I feem alone with nature here!

Here are thy walks, O facred Health!
The Monarch's blifs, the Beggar's wealth,
The feas'ning of all good below,
The fovereign's friend in joy or woe.
O Thou, moft courted, most despis'd,
And but in abfence, duly priz'd!
Pow'r of the foft and rofy face!
The vivid pulfe, the vermeil grace,
The fpirits, when they gayeft thine,
Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine!
O fun of life, whofe heavenly ray
Lights up and cheers our various day,
The turbulence of hopes and fears,
The storm of fate, the cloud of years,
Till nature, with thy parting light,
Repofes late in Death's calm night:
Fled from the trophied roofs of ftate,
Abodes of fplendid pain and hate;
Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep
Hot Riot would his anguish fteep,
But toffes through the midnight shade,
Of death, of life, alike afraid;
For ever fled to fhady cell,
Where Temp'rance, where the Mufes dwell,
Thou oft art feen, at early dawn,
Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn;
Or, on the brow of mountain high,
In filence feafting ear and eye
With fong and profpect, which abound
From birds, and woods, and waters round.

But when the fun, with noon-tide ray, Flames forth intolerable day; While Heat fits fervent on the plain, With Thirst and Langour in his train (All nature fick'ning in the blaze), Thou in the wild and woody maze That clouds the vale with umbrage deep, Impendent from the neighb'ring steep, Wilt find betimes a calm retreat, Where breathing Coolness has her feat. There plung'd amid the fhadows brown, Imagination lays him down; Attentive in his airy mood, To ev'ry murmur of the wood: The bee in yonder flow'ry nook; The chidings of the headlong brook; The green leaf quiv'ring in the gale; The warbling hill, the lowing vale; The diftant woodman's echoing stroke; The thunder of the falling oak. From thought to thought in vifion led, He holds high converfe with the Dead; Sages or Poets. See, they rife! And shadowy skim before his eyes, Hark! Orpheus ftrikes the lyre again, That soften'd favages to men: Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heaven, To whom its moral will was given.


Fathers and Friends of human kind! They form'd the nations, or refin'd, With all that mends the head and heart, Enlight’ning truth, adorning art.

Thus muting in the folemn fhade, At once the founding breeze was laid: And nature, by the unknown law, Shook deep with reverential awe; Dumb filence grew upon the hour; A browner night involv'd the bow'r: When iffuing from the inmoft wood, Appear'd fair Freedom's Genius good. O Freedom! fov'reign boon of Heav'n, Great Charter with our being giv'n; For which the patriot and the fage Have plann'd, have bled, thro' ev'ry age! High privilege of human race, Beyond a mortal monarch's grace: Who could not give, who cannot claim, What but from God immediate came!

* *

115. Ode to Evening. Dr. Jos. WARTON. HALL, meek-ey'd maiden, clad in fober grey, Whose foft approach the weary woodman loves;

As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes
Jocund he whiftles through the twilight groves.
When Phoebus finks behind the gilded hills,
You lightly o'er the mifty meadows walk;
The drooping daifies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurie the nodding violet's tender stalk.
The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To inmoft bow'rs and cooling caverns ran,
Return, to trip in wanton ev'ning dance;
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.
To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair,
Light fkims the fwallow o'er the wat'ry fcene;
And from the fheep-cot, and fresh-furrow'd field,
Stout ploughmen meet, to wrestle on the green.
The fwain, that artless fings on yonder rock,
His fupping fheep and length'ning fhadow ipies,
Pleas'd with the cool, the calm, refreshing hour,
And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies.
Now ev'ry Paffion fleeps: defponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-reftlefs Pride;
And holy Calm creeps o'er my peaceful foul,
Anger and mad Ambition's forms fubdue.
O modeft Evening! oft let me appear
A wandering votary in thy penfive train;
Lift'ning to every wildly-warbling note
That fills with farewell fweet thy dark'ning plain.

Pale Ifis lay; a willow's lowly fhade
Spread its thin foliage o'er the fleeping maid;
Clos'd was her eye, and from her heaving breaft
In carelefs folds loofe flow'd her zonelefs veft;
While down her neck her vagrant tresses flow,
In all the awful negligence of woe;

Her urn fuftain'd her arm, that fculptur'd vafe
Where Vulcan's art had lavish'd all his grace.
Here, full with life, was heaven-taught Science

Known by the laurel wreath and mufing mien; There cloud-crown'd Fame, here Peace, fedate and bland, [wand; Swell'd the loud trump, and wav'd the olive While folemn domes, arch'd shades, and vistas


At well-mark'd distance close the facred fcene.
On this the goddess cast an anxious look,
Then dropp'd a tender tear, and thus the spoke:
Yes, I could once with pleas'd attention trace
The mimic charms of this prophetic vase;
Then lift my head, and with enraptur'd eyes
View on yon plain the real glories rife.
Yes, Ifis! oft haft thou rejoic'd to lead
Thy liquid treafures o'er yon fav'rite mead:
Oft haft thou ftopp'd thy pearly car to gaze,
While ev'ry Science nurs'd its growing bays;
While cv'ry Youth, with fame's ftrong impulfe
Prefs'd to the goal, and at the goal untir'd, [fir'd,
Snatch'd each celeftial wreath to bind his brow
The Mufes, Graces, Virtues, could bestow.

E'en now fond Fancy leads th' ideal train,
And ranks her troops on Memory's ample plain;
See! the firm leaders of my patriot line,
See! Sidney, Raleigh, Hampden, Somers, shine.
See Hough, fuperior to a tyrant's doom,
Smile at the menace of the flave of Rome:
Ea foul whom truth could fire, or virtue move,
Each breaft ftrong pantingwith its country's love,
All that to Albion gave their heart or head,
That wifely counsell'd, or that bravely bled,
All, all appear; on me they grateful smile,
To me with filial reverence they bring,
The well-earn'd prize of every virtuous toil
And hang fresh trophies o'er my honor'd spring.
Ah! I remember well yon beechen spray,
There Addifon first tun'd his polish'd lay;
'Twas there great Cato's form firft met his eye,
In all the pomp of free-born majefty;


My fon," he cried, "obferve this mien with "In folemn lines the ftrong refemblance draw; "The piercing notes fhall ftrike each British ear,

Each British eye fhall drop the patriot tear! "And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain, "Each youth fhall fpurn at flavery's abject reign; "Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, of" And Ipeak, and act, and bleed, in freedom's

$116. Ifis. An Elegy. By Mr. MASON, Cambridge. FAR from her hallow'd grot, where, mildly


The pointed chryftals fhot their trembling light; From dripping mofs, where sparkling dew-drops fell, [fhell, Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreathed


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