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His ears are open to the foftest cry,
His grace defcends to meet the lifted eye;
He reads the language of a filent tear;
And fighs are incenfe from a heart fincere.
Such are the vows, the facrifice I give;
Accept the vow, and bid the fuppliant live:
From each terrestrial bondage fet me free;
Still ev'ry with that centers not in thee;
Bid my fond hopes, my vain difquiets ccafe,
And point my path to everlasting peace.

If the foft hand of winning pleasure leads By living waters, and thro' flow'ry meads, When all is smiling, tranquil and ferene, And vernal beauty paints the flatt'ring scene, Oh! teach me to elude each latent fnare, And whifper to my fliding heart, Beware! With caution let me hear the Syren's voice, And doubtful, with a trembling heart, rejoice, If friendless, in a vale of tears I stray, Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way, Still let my fteady foul thy goodness sec, And with strong confidence lay hold on thee; With equal eye my various lot receive, Refign'd to die, or refolute to live; Prepar'd to kifs the fceptre or the rod, While God is feen in all, and all in God.

I read his awful name, emblazon'd high With golden letters on th'illumin'd fky; Nor lefs the myftic characters I fee Wrought in each flow'r, infcrib'd on ev'ry tree; In ev'ry leaf that trembles to the breeze I hear the voice of God among the trees; With thee in fhady folitudes I walk; With thee in bufy crowded citics talk; In ev'ry creature own thy forming pow'r ; In each event thy providence adore. Thy hopes fhall animate my drooping foul, Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear controul. Thus fhall I reft, unmov'd by all alarms, Secure within the temple of thine arms; From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free, And feel myself omnipotent in thec. Then when the laft, the clofing hour draws nigh, And earth recedes before my fwimming eve; When trembling on the doubtful edge of fate I ftand and stretch my view to either state, Teach me to quit this tranfitory scene With decent triumph and a look ferenc ; Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high, And having liv'd to thee, in thee to die!

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Impatient for the night, and feems to push
Her brother down the sky. Fair Venus fhines
Ev'n in the eye of day: with sweetest beam
Propitious fhines, and shakes a trembling flood
Of foften'd radiance from her dewy locks.
The fhadows fpread apace; while meeken'deve,
Her check yet warm with blushes, flow retires
Thro' the Hefperian gardens of the west,
And fhuts the gates of day. 'Tis now the hour
When contemplation, from her funless haunts,
The cool damp grotto, or the lonely depth
Of unpierc'd woods, where wrapt in folid fhade
She mus'd away the gaudy hours of noon,
And fed on thoughts unripen'd by the fun,
Moves forward; and with radiant finger points
To yon blue concave fwell'd by breath divine,
Where, one by one, the living eyes of heav'n
Awake, quick kindling o'er the face of æther
One boundless blaze; ten thousand trembling

And dancing luftres, where th'unfteady eye,
Reftlefs and dazzled, wanders unconfin'd
O'er all this field of glories: fpacious field,
And worthy of the Master: he, whose hand
With hieroglyphics elder than the Nile,
Infcrib'd the myftic tablet, hung on high
To public gaze, and faid, Adore, O man,
The finger of thy God! From what pure wells
Of milky light, what loft o'erflowing urn,
Are all thefe lamps fo fill'd? these friendly lamps,
For ever ftreaming o'er the azure deep
To point our path, and light us to our home.
How foft they flide along their lucid spheres!
And filent as the foot of time, fulfil
Their deftin'd courfes: Nature's felf is hufh'd,
And but a scatter'd leaf, which ruitles thro'
The thick-wove foliage, not a found is heard
To break the midnight air, tho' the rais'd ear,
Intenfely lift'ning, drinks in ev'ry breath.
How deep the filence, yet how loud the praise !
But are they filent all? or is there not
A tongue in ev'ry ftar that talks with inan,
And wooes him to be wife? nor wooes in vain.
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And wifdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
At this ftill hour the felf-collected foul
Turns inward, and beholds a stranger there
Of high defcent, and more than mortal rank;
An embryo God; a fpark of fire divine,
Which must burn on for ages, when the fun
(Fair transitory creature of a day !)
Has clos'd his golden eye, and, wrapt in fhades,
Forgets his wonted journey thro' the east.

Ye citadels of light, and feats of Gods!
Perhaps my future home, from whence the foul
Revolving periods paft, may oft look back,
With recollected tendernefs, on all
The various bufy fcenes the left below,
Its deep laid projects and its strange events,
As on fome fond and doating tale that footh'd
Her infant hours; O be it lawful now
To tread the hallow'd circle of your courts,
And with mute wonder and delighted awe
Approach your burning confines. Sciz'd in
On fancy's wild and roving wingI fail [thought,


From the green borders of the peopled earth,
And the pale moon, her duteous fair attendant;
From folitary Mars; from the vaft orb
Of Jupiter, whose huge gigantic bulk
Dances in ether like the lightest leaf;
To the dim verge, the fuburbs of the system,
Where cheerlefs Saturn, 'midft his wat'ry moons,
Girt with a lucid zone, in gloomy pomp,
Sits like an exil'd monarch: fearlefs thence
I launch into the tracklefs deups of fpace,
Where, burning round, ten thousand funs appear,
Of elder beam; which afk no leave to thine
Of our terreftrial ftar, nor borrow light
From the proud regent of our fcanty day;
Sons of the morning, firft-born of creation,
And only lefs than Him who marks their track,
And guides their fiery wheels. Here must I stop,
Or is there aught beyond? what hand unfeen
Impels me onward thro' the glowing orbs
Of habitable nature, far remote,

To the dread confines of eternal night,
To folitudes of vaft unpcopled space,
The defarts of creation, wide and wild;
Where embyro fystems and unkindled funs
Sleep in the womb of chaos? Fancy droops,
And thought aftonifh'd, ftops her bold career.
But oh thou mighty mind! whofe pow'rful word
Said, Thus let all things be, and thus they were,
Where fhall I feek thy prefence? how unblam'd
Invoke thy dread perfection!

Have the broad eye-lids of the morn beheld thee?
Or does the beamy shoulder of Orion
Support thy throne? O look with pity down
On erring, guilty man; not in thy names
Of terror clad, not with thofe thunders arm'd
That confcious Sinai felt, when fear appal'd

The scatter'd tribes; thou haft a gentler voice,
That whifpers comfort to the fwelling heart,
Abath'd, yet longing to behold her Maker.

But now my foal, unus'd to ftretch her pow'rs In flight fo daring, drops her weary wing, And fecks again the known accuftom'd fpot. Dreft up with fun, and flade, and lawns, and A mantion fair and fpacious for its gueft, [ftreams,

And full replete with wonders. Let me here, Content and grateful, wait th'appointed time, And ripen for the fkies: the hour will come

When all thefe iplendours burfting on my fight Shall fand unveil'd, and to my ravish'd fenfe Unlock the glories of the world unknown.

52. Hmn to Content. Mrs. BARBAULD. natura breatis

Omnibus effe dcdit, fi quis cognoverit uti. CLAUDIAN. THOU, the Nymph with placid eye! O feldom found, vet ever nigh! Receive my temp`rate vow: Not all the ftorins that thake the pole Can e'er difturb thy halcyon foul,

And fmooth unalter'd brow. O come. in fimple veft array'd, With all thy fober cheer difp! y'!,

To blefs my longing fight;
Thy mein compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meck regard, thy matron grace,
And chafte fubdu'd delight.

No more by varying paffions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feer

To find thy hermit cell; Where in fome pure and equal fky, Beneath thy foft indulgent eye,

The modeft virtues dwell.

Simplicity in attic veft,

And Innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye;
And Hope, who points to diftant years,
Fair op'ning thro' this vale of tears
A vifta to the fky.

There Health, thro' whose calm bosom glide
The temp'rate joys in even tide,

That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy fifter meek,
Prefents her mild, unvarying cheek
To meet the offer'd blow.
He influence taught the Phrygian fage
A tyrant mafter's wanton rage

With fettled fimiles to meet :
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek fubmitted head,
And kifs'd thy fainted feet.

But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy !
In what brown hamlet doft thou joy

To tell thy tender tale ?
The lowlieft children of the ground,
Mofstrofe and violet bloffom round,
And lily of the vale.
O fay what foft propitious hour
I beft may choofe to hail thy pow'r,
And court thy gentle fway?
When Autumn, friendly to the Mufe,
Shall thy own modeft tints diffufe,

And thed thy milder day.
When Eve, her dewy ftar beneath,
Thy balmy fpirit loves to breathe,

And ev'ry ftorm is laid;
If fuch an hour was e'er thy choice,

Oft let me hear thy foothing voice

Low whifp'ring thro' the fhade.

§ 53. To Wifdom. Mrs BARBAULD, Dona præfentis rape lætus horæ, as Linque fevera. HORAT.

WISDOM! if thy foft controul
Can footh the fickness of the foul;
Can bid the warring paffions ceafe,
And breathe the calm of tender peace;
Wisdom! I blefs thy gentle fway,
And ever, ever will obey.

But if thou com'ft with frown auftere
To nurse the brood of care and fear;
To bid our fweeteft paffions die,
And leave us in their room a figh;

O if thine afpect ftern have pow'r

To wither each poor tranfient flow'r That cheers this pilgrimage of woe,

Than I no lonely Hermit plac'd Where never human footstep trac'd, Lefs fit to play the part,

And dry the fprings whence hope fhould flow; The lucky moment to improve,

Wisdom, thine empire I disclaim,
Thou empty boaft of pompous name!
In gloomy fhade of cloisters dwell,
But never haunt my cheerful cell.
Hail to pleasure's frolic train!
Hail to fancy's golden reign!
Festive mirth and laughter wild,
Free and fportful as the child!
Hope with eager fparkling eyes,
And eafy faith, and fond surprise!
Let thefe, in fairy colours dreft,
For ever fhare my careless breaft:
Then, tho' wife Í may not be,

The wife themselves fhall envy me.

$54. Defpondency. An Ode. BURNS.

OPPRESS'D with grief, opprefs'd with care,

A burden more than I can bear,

I fit me down and figh:

O life, thou art a galling load,
A long, a rough, a weary road,
To wretches fuch as I!
Dim-hackward as I caft my view,
What fick'ning scenes appear!

What forrows yet may pierce me thro',
Too juftly may I fear!
Still caring, defpairing,
Must be my bitter doom;
My woes here fhall clofe ne'er,
But with the clofing tomb!
Happy! ye fons of bufy life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,
No other view regard!
Ev'n when the wifhed end's deny'd,
Yet while the bufy means are ply'd,
They bring their own reward:
Whilft I, a hope-abandon'd wight,
Unfitted with an aim,
Meet ev'ry fad returning night
And joyless morn the fame :
You, bustling and juftling,
Forget each grief and pain;
I, littlefs, yet reftlefs,

Find every profpect vain.
How bleft the Solitary's lot,
Who, all forgetting, all forgot,
Within his humble cell;

The cavern wild with tangling roots,
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits,
Befide his cryftal well;

Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought,
By unfrequented ftream,

The ways of men are distant brought,
A faint collected dream :

While praifing, and raising

His thoughts to Heav'n on high,
As wand'ring, meand'ring,
He views the folemn sky.

And just to stop, and just to move,
With felf-refpecting art:

But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,
Which I too keenly taste,
The Solitary can defpife,
Can want, and yet be bleft!
He needs not, he heeds not,
Or human love or hate;
Whilft I here, must cry here,
At perfidy ingrate !

Oh! enviable early days,

When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's maze,
To care to gilt unknown!
How ill exchang'd for riper times,
To feel the follies or the crimes
Of others, or my own!
Ye tiny elves that guiltless fport,
Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
When manhood is your with!
The loffes, the croffes,

That active man engage;
The fears all, the tears all,
Of dim declining Age!

55. Death. Dr. PORTEUS, Bp. of London. FRIEND to the wretch whom every friend


I woo thee, Death! In fancy's fairy paths Let the gay fongfter rove, and gently trill The ftrain of empty joy. Life and its joys I leave to thofe that prize them. At this hour, This folemn hour, when filence rules the world, And wearied nature makes a gen'ral paufe; Wrapt in night's fable robe, through cloyfters, And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng [drear Of meagre phantoms fhooting cross my path With filent glance, I feek the fhadowy vale Of Death. Deep in a murky cave's recefs, Lav'd by Oblivion's liftless stream, and fenc'd By fhelving rocks, and intermingled horrors Of yew and cyprefs fhade, from all intrufion Of bufy noontide beam, the Monarch fits In unfubftantial majesty enthron'd. At his right hand, neareft himself in place And frightfulness of form, his parent Sin With fatal industry and cruel care Bufies herself in pointing all his ftings, And tipping every fhaft with venom drawn From her infernal store: around him rang'd In terrible array, and mixture frange Of uncouth fhapes, ftand his dread Minifters, Foremost Old Age, his natural ally And firmeft friend: next him difeafes thick, A motly train; Fever, with check of fire; Confumption wan; Palfy, half warm with life, And half a clay-clod lump; joint-tort'ring Gout, And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulfion wild! Swoln Dropfy; panting Afthma; Apoplex Full-gorgd. There too the Peftilence that walks


In darkness, and the Sickness that destroys
At broad noon-day. These, and a thousand more,
Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
ByHeav'n's command Deathwaves his ebon wand,
Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose,
And scatter defolation o'er the earth.


Ill-fated Man, for whom such various forms Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey Ah! why, all-righteous Father, didft thou make This creature, Man? why wake th'unconscious To life and wretchednefs? O better far Still had he flept in uncreated night, If this the lot of Being! Was it for this Thy Breath divine kindled within his breast The vital flame? For this was thy fair image Stampt on his foul in godlike lineaments? For this dominion giv'n him abfolute O'er all thy works, only that he might reign Supreme in woe? From the bleft source of Good Could Pain and Death proceed? Could fuch foul ills Fall from fair Mercy's hands? Far be the thought, The impious thought! God never made a creature But what was good. He made a living Soul; The wretched Mortal was the work of Man. Forth from his Maker's hands he fprung to life Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he knew, No fear of change, no check to his defires, [ftood Save one command; that one command, which 'Twixt him and Death, the test of his obedience, Urg'd on by wanton curiofity,

He broke. There in one moment was undone

The fairest of God's works. The fame rath hand,
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit,
Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin
And Death, and all the family of Pain,
To prey on Mankind. Young Nature faw
The monftrous crew, and fhook thro'all her frame.
Then fled her new-born luftre, then began
Heaven's cheerful face to lowr, then vapours

The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds
To hide the willing Sun. The earth, convuls'd
With painful throes, threw forth a briftly crop
Of thorns and briars! and Infect, Bird, and Beaft,
That wont before with admiration fond
To gaze at Man, and fearlefs.crowd around him,
Now fled before his face, fhunning in hafte
Th'infection of his mifery. He alone,
Who justly might, th'offended Lord of Man,
Turg'd not away his face, he, full of pity,
Forfook not in this uttermoft diftrefs
His beft lov'd work. That comfort still remain'd
(That beft, that greateft comfort in affliction)
The countenance of God; and thro' the gloom
Shot forth fome kindly gleams, to cheer and warm
Th'offender's fukingioul. Hope fent from Heav'n,
Uprais'd his drooping head, and thew'd afar
A happier fcene of things; the Promis'd Seed
Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled creft;
Death of his fting difarm'd; and the dark grave,
Made pervious to the realms of endlefs day,
No more the limit but the gate of life. [ground,
Cheer'd with the view, Man went to till the
From whence he role; fentenc'd indeed to toil
As to a punishment, yet (ev'n in wrath,

So merciful is Heav'n) this toil became
The folace of his woes, the sweet employ
Of many a live-long hour, and fureft guard
Against Difeafe and Death. Death,tho'denounc'd,
Was yet a diftant ill, by feeble arm
Of Age, his fole fupport, led flowly on.
Not then, as fince, the fhort-liv'd fons of men
Flock'd to his realms in countless multitudes;
Scarce in the course of twice five hundred years
One solitary ghost went fhiv'ring down
To his unpeopled fhore. In fober state,
Through the fequefter'd vale of rural life,
The venerable Patriarch guileless held
The tenor of his way; Labour prepar'd
His fimple fare, and Temp'rance rul'd his board,
Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve
He funk to fudden reft; gentle and pure
As breath of evening Zephyr, and as fweet,
Were all his flumbers; with the Sun he rofe,
Alert and vigorous as He, to run [ftrength,
His deftin'd course. Thus nerv'd with giant
He ftemm'd the tide of time, and stood the shock,
Of ages rolling harmlefs o'er his head.
At life's meridian point arriv'd, he stood,
And looking round, faw all the vallies fill'd
With nations from his loins; full-well content
To leave his race thus fcatter'd o'er the carth,
Along the gentle flope of life's decline
He bent his gradual way, till full of years
He dropt like mellow fruit into his grave,

Such in the infancy of time was Man;
So calm was life, fo impotent was Death!
O had he but preferv'd these few remains,
The fhatter'd fragments of loft happiness,
Snatch'd by the hand of Heav'n from the fad wreck,
Of innocence primeval, ftill had he liv'd
In ruin great; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn ;
Though mortal, yet not everywhere befet
With Death in every fhape! But he, impatient
To be completely wretched, haftes to fill up
The meafure of his woes.-'Twas Man himself
Brought Death into the world; and Man himself
Gave keenness to his darts, quicken'd his pace,
And multiply'd destruction on mankind.

Firft Envy, eldeft-born of Hell, embrued Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of Men To make a Death which Nature never made, And God abhorr'd; with violence rude to break The thread of life ere half its length was run, And rob a wretched brother of his being. With joy Ambition faw, and foon improv'd | The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough By fubtle fraud to fnatch a fingle life: Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell To fate the luft of power: more horrid ftill, The fouleft ftain and fcandal of our nature Became its boaft. One Murder made a Villain, Millions a Hero. Princes were privileg'd To kill; and numbers fanctified the crime. Ah! why will Kings forget that they are Men' And Men that they are brethren? Why delight In human facrifice Why burst the ties Of Nature, that should knit their fouls together In one foft bond of amity and love? Yet ftill they breathe deftruction, still go on


Inhumanly ingenious to find out
New pains for life, new terrors for the grave,
Ártificers of Death! Still Monarchs dream
Of univerfal empire growing up
From univerfal ruin. Blaft the defign,
Great God of Hofts, nor let thy creatures fall'
Unpitied victims at Ambition's fhrine!

Yet fay, thould Tyrants learn at laft to feel,
And the loud din of battle ceafe to bray;
Should dove-ey'd Peace o'er all the earth extend
Her olive branch, and give the world repofe,
Would Death be foil'd? Would health, and
ftrength, and youth

Defy his pow'r? Has he no arts in store,
No other shafts fave thofe of war? Alas!
Ev'n in the fmile of Peace, that finile which sheds
A heav'nly funfhine o'er the foul, there basks
That ferpent Luxury. War its thoufands flays,
Peace its ten thoufands. In th'embattled plain
Tho' Death exults, and claps his raven wings,
Yet reigns he not ev'n there fo abfolute,
So merciless, as in yon frantic fcenes
Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth,
Where in th'intoxicating draught conceal'd,
Or couch'd beneath the glance of lawlefs Love,
He fnares the fimple youth,who nought fufpecting,
Means to be bleft-but finds himself undone.
Down the fmoothftream of life the ftripling darts,
Gay as the morn; bright glows the vernal fky,
Hope fwells his fails, and patlion fteers his courfe.
Safe glides his little bark along the shore
Where virtue takes her ftand; but if too far
He launches forth beyond difcretion's mark,
Sudden the tempeft fcowls, the furges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.
O fad but fure mifchance! O happier far
To lie like gallant Howe 'midft Indian wilds
A breathlefs corfe, cut off by favage hands
In earliest prime, a generous facrifice
To freedom's holy caufe, than fo to fall,
Torn immature from life's meridian joys,
A prey to Vice, Intemp'rance, and Difcafe.

Yet die ev'n thus, thus rather perish fill,
Ye Sons of Pleafure, by th'Almighty ftrick'n,
Than ever dare (though oft, alas! ye dare)
To lift against yourselves the murd❜rous steel,
To wreft from God's own hand the fword of

And be your own avengers! Hold, rash Man,
Though with anticipating speed thou'lt rang'd
Through every region of delight, nor left
One joy to gild the evening of thy days;
Though life feem one uncomfortable void,
Guilt at thy heels, before thy face defpair;
Yet gay this fcene, and light this load of woe,
Compar'd with thy hereafter. Think, O think,
And, ere thou plunge into the vast abyis,
Paufe on the verge a while, look down and fee
Thy future manfion. Why that start of horror?
From thy flack hand why drops th'uplifted fteel?
Didft thou not think fuch vengeance muft await
The wretch that, with his crimes all freth about
Rufhes irreverent, unprepar'd, uncall'd, [him,
Into his Maker's prefence, throwing back
With infolent difdain his choiceft gift?

Live then, while Heav'n in pity lends thee life,
And think it all too short to wash away,
By penitential tears and deep contrition,
The fcarlet of thy crimes. So fhalt thou find
Reft to thy foul, so unappall'd shalt meet
Death when he comes, not wantonly invite
His ling'ring ftroke. Be it thy fole concern
With innocence to live, with patience wait
Th'appointed hour; too foon that hour will come,
Tho' Nature run her courfe. But Nature's God,
If need require, by thousand various ways,
Without thy aid, can fhorten that short pan,
And quench the lamp of life. O when he comes,
Rous'd by the cry of wickednefs extreme
To Heav'n afcending from fome guilty land,
Now ripe for vengeance; when he comes array'd
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath,
Forth from his bofom plucks his ling'ring arm,
And on the mifereants pours deftruction down,
Who can abide his coming? Who can bear
His whole displeasure ? In no common form
Death then appears, but ftarting into fize
Enormous, measures with gigantic stride
Th'aftonifh'd earth, and from his looks throws
Unutterable horror and difmay. [round
All nature lends her aid. Each element
Arms in his caufe. Ope fly the doors of heav'n,
The fountains of the deep their barriers break;
Above, below, the rival torrents pour,
And drown Creation; or in floods of fire
Defcends a livid cataract, and confumes
An impious race. Sometimes, when allicem speace,
Wakes the grim whirlwind,andwith rude embrace
Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep
Whelms the proud wooden world; full many a
Floats on his wat'ry bier, or lies unwept [youth
On fome fad defart fhore! At dead of night,
In fullen filence talks forth Peftilence:
Contagion, clofe behind, taints all her steps
With pois'nous dew; no fmiting hand is feen,
No found is heard, but foon her fecret path
Is mark'd with defolation; heaps on heaps
Promifcuous drop. No friend, no refuge, near;
All, all, is falfe and treacherous around;
All that they touch, or tafte, or breathe, is Death.

But ah! what means that ruinous roar? why fail
Thefe tott'ring feet? Earth to its center feels.
The Godhead's power, and trembling at his touch
Through all its pillars, and in ev'ry porc,
Hurls to the ground with one convulfive heave
Precipitating domes, and towns, and tow'rs,
The work of ages. Crush'd beneath the weight
Of gen'ral devaltation, millions find

One common grave; not ev'n a widow left
To wail her fons: the house, that should protect,
Entombs its matter; and the faithlefs plain,
If there he flies for help, with fudden yawn
Starts from beneath him. Shield me, gracious

O fnatch me from deftruction! If this Globe,
This folidGlobe, which thine own hand hath made
So firm and fure, if this my fteps betray;
If my own mother Earth, from whence I fprung,
Rife up with rage unnatural to devour
Her wretched offspring, whither thall I fly ?


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