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Death in this tomb his weary bones hath laid, / Sick of dominion o’er the human kind; …
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At eutaw Springs the valiant died: / Their limbs with dust are covered o’er; …
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On scent of game from town to town he flew, / The soldier’s curse pursued him on his way; …
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Where now these mingled ruins lie / A temple once to Bacchus rose, …
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The grandeur of this earthly round, / Where Theon would forever be, …
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The turtle on yon withered bough, / That lately mourned her murdered mate, …
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In spite of all the learned have said, / I still my old opinion keep; …
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The man that joins in life’s career / And hopes to find some comfort here, …
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His soul extracted from the public sink, / For discord born he splasht around his ink; …
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Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, / Hid in this silent, dull retreat, …
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in a branch of willow hid / Sings the evening Caty-did: …
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Thou, born to sip the lake or spring, / Or quaff the waters of the stream, …