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‘these monsters, set out in the open sun,
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before the saintly soul, whose human will
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and on her ample square from side to side
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and hold the hours as joshua stayed the sun,--
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he scarce had ended, when those two approachd
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blindness like that would scare the mole and bat,
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did from the altar steal a smouldering brand,
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"he whose lot hath been
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our present, our past, our to be,
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now rise and look upon me." and she rose,
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came sages urging on his foamy steed:
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is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapours bound.
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and finde thee knowing not of beasts alone,
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apple-blossoms pink, and low
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pride of thy sex, miss harriet martineau!
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we’ll say instead, the inconsequent creature, man,—
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until the bitter summons fell--
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with level wings swinging
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lift not your hands in the banded war,
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would my heart and life flow onward, deathward, through this dream of
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but de lawd is all aroun' you,
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in slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps,
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to hold it fast.
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tain't the words alone, but feelin's,
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no angry bolt, but harmless flame.
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the beauty and the joy of their renewed might.
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oh, those days, so sweet, so happy,
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if men are always at a loss
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they were wet, and glistened with raindrops, shed
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and circling wonders fill the vast profound.
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the love that lived through all the stormy past,
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but it is not enough, ah! not enough
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the pyramids have risen.
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"play uppe, play uppe, o boston bells!
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is plain, thou say'st: but wherefore god this way
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to rise upon some other shore,
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at dusk of eve,
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and then, as is my wont, i told
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with warning cough and threatening wheeze
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who had my mother's servant been,
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daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
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there's a certain slant of light,
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honour to the old bow-string!
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fall again.
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love, on myriad lips fairer than yours, kisses you could not give! . . .
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how heavy it seemed! as heavy as a stone;
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concerning him ye wot of, thus to think
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thou too art victor, rochambeau!
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when thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death, thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to all believers.
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and wit, like ocean, rose and fell?--
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how they had waited for him, to complete
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heart as though with ashes blending;
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and give a meaning to their lives; and still
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along the track. afore the noonday meal
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but descend to the ocean again.
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and yet its whole career
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when waves forget to roll.
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i see two boats with nets, lying off the shore of paumanok, quite still;
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rais’d on the seas, the surges to control—
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passing to lap thy waters, crushed the flower
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ay, knelt and worshipped on, as love in beauty's bower,
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the tale is one of distant skies;
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the herded wolves, bold only to pursue;
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would we were bidden with the rest!
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feel the pulses of the brave
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sparked a ruby through its heart,
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from the overhanging branches,
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i see them mix'd with george's sons,
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i watch you in your crystal sphere,
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daih 's de ho'n a blowin'!
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to teach in schools of little country towns
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listening, with half-suspended breath,
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beneath thy gracious feet!
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his hand the captive's fetters broke,
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did this wood come floating thick
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and confessors betwixt.
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his boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath,
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a hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their leaves and snows,
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and yet perhaps you had been startled less
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and say, ‘fie, pale-face! are you english girls
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at length they turn to nothing else but down,
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and, waking, find it vision,--none the less
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here on the street as strangers do,
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it is but three times thou hast set thine eyes
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behind the heads of children) compliments,
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pulled by mules dat run like rabbits, each one tryin' to git ahead.
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unclasped the rusty belt beneath,
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you heard the news from vincent carrington.
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got the ill name of augurs, because they were bores, —)
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sire, son, and grandson; so the century glides;
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but she guesses he is near,
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and so,
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and tender thoughts, and prayers, remains,
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then thro’ his breast his fatal sword he sent,
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"i mean estelle has always held the purse."
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though books on manners are not out of print,
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so, then, without a word that might offend
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seed-field of simpler manners, braver truth,
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the pain when it did live,
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busy, with sacerdotal tailorings
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