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Displaying what is exquisite display'd,
And thinly scattering the light veil where'er
Its shadowing may enhance the grace, and swell
With sweet officiousness the clustering hair
Where fairest Lusts its richness, and let fall
Where drooping most becomes ; that thus ye love
To lose yourselves about her, and expire
Upon her shape, or snow-white robes ? She stood,
Her ivory arm in a soft curve stretch'd out,
As only in the obedience of her steeds
Rejoicing ; they their necks arch'd proud and high,
And by her delicate and flower-soft hands
Sway'd, as enamour'd of her mastery moved,
Lovingly on their bright-chafed bits reposed,
Or in gay sport upon each other fawn'd.
But as the Monarch she beheld, she caught
The slack rein up, and with unconscious check
Delay'd the willing coursers, and her head,
Upon her snowy shoulder half declined
In languor of enjoyment, rising wore
Rosy confusion, and disorder fair
Transiently on her pride of motion broke.
Or chance, or meaning wander'd to his face
Her eye, with half command, entreating half;
Haughty to all the world, but mild to him,
Th'all admired admiring, and th' all awing awed –
She look'd on him, and trembled as she look d.

Alone she came, alone she went not on.

Emrys and Uther, come not here to charge
Inconstant counsel on your wisdom, nought
Arraigning, that the sceptre to our line
Solemnly given, in those disastrous days,
When for the Empire of the Occident,
For Gaul o'er-master'd, and submitted Spain,
Warr'd Constantine, and warring nobly fell,
Ye placed in elder hand, our right foregone
For the more precious public weal: oh, Chiefs,
'T was well and wisely done ; a stripling's arm
May rear the kingly standard in its pomp
To play with Zephyrs under cloudless skies,
But when the rude storm shakes its ponderous folds
'T were hard for less than the consummate man
Aloft to bear it, yet unstooping. Well
Stemm'd your new standard-bearer Vortigern
The o'ershadowing tempest, nor abased his front
Your crown's old glories; till, alas ! dire change!
Dread fall! the sceptre that ye fondly hoped,
Would blossom, like the llebrew Hierarch's rod,
With the almond bloom of mercy and of love,
Liker the Egyptian magic-worker's wand
Became a serpent, withering all your peace
With its infection: then your virtues wrought
Your sorrows, from your valour grew your shame.
Your borders were o'erleap'd, your towns on fire,
And the land groan'd beneath fierce Rapine's wheels
Ye cried unto your King for arms, he sage
In cold and jealous wisdom seard to arm,
Whose arms might brave himself, and cast control
On the fierce wanderings of his royal will.
Saxons must fight our wars, our hard-wrung gold
Buy us ignoble safety, till the slaves
Swell'd into Lords, and realms must pamper
Our hirelings into Princes : Kent, fair Kent,
The frontlet of our isle, where yet are seen
The graves great Cæsar peopled with his dead,
When on his rear the Briton conqueror hung,
Where first the banner of the Cross was waved,
Sinks to a Heathen province. Warriors! Kings !
This must not be among baptized men,
This cannot be 'mong Britons. Therefore here,
Here in your presence dare we call again,
Your throne our throne, and challenge in your love
A Sovereign's title: by our youth we fell
From that great height, but Vortigern hath fallin
By his own guilt; we therefore rise again
In majesty renew'd; he falls, no more
To soar into the sacred royal seat."
Thereat with concord loud, and stern acclaim,
Gave answer that proud Senate, and denounced
Judgment irrevocable. But with mien
Somewhat appall’d, as one in high debate,
And solemn council unassay'd, arose
Prince Uther: ere he spake his clanging mail
Smote with fierce stroke, as audience to enchain,
Himself the battle sound enkindling, high
His baughty brow and crested helm upflung,
Thus rude his fiery eloquence pour'd forth.


Noon is ablaze in Heaven, but gloom, the gloom
of the brown forest's massy vault of shade,
Is o'er the Kings of Britain; the broad oaks,
As in protection of that conclave proud,
Like some old temple's dome, with mingling shade
Meet overhead, around their rugged trunks
Show like fantastic pillars closely set
By Druids in mysterious circle, wont
Here, when the earth abroad was bright and clear
With moonshine, to install their midnight rites
By blue nor earthly kindled fires, while Bards
Pour'd more than music from their charmed harps.
Each on his mossy seat, in arms that cast
A glimmer which is hardly light, they sit
Colossal, stern, and still; on every brow
Indignant sorrow and sad vengeance lowers.
Them had the Pagan peasant deem'd his gods,
In cloudy wrath down stooping from the heavens
To blast the righty of mankind, and wreak
On some old empire ruin and revenge.

And first majestical, yet mild, arose A lofty shape, por less than monarch seem'd, Whose royal look from souls bold, brave, and free, Not stouping slavery claim'd, but upright awe And noble homage; yet uncrown'd he wore Dominion, him with stately reverence heard That armed Senale. “Princes of the land, Lords of the old hereditary thrones Of Britain, we, the sons of Constantine,

“ Warriors of Britain! me nor pomp of words Beseems, nor strife of smooth and liquid phrase In the debate of swords, the fray of steeds

No combatant unskill'd. I will not boast

Vortigern is our foe, no more our King,
That I have brok'd with Emrys' patient pride Yet king he hath been, king he had been still,
A sceptre's loss: a boy, I wept to hear

Had never his high vaulting pride disdain'd
My father's crown was on a stranger's brow.

The smooth dominion of old use, nor striven But when my arm 'gan grasp a sword, those tears, To fix on our impatient necks the yoke Those soft unseemly waters, turn'd to hues

Of foreign usurpation ; our free land Of burning indignation; every crown

Will not endure the heathen Saxon's rule. Show'd, every kingly title to my ear

Nor him that roles by heathen Saxon power.
Sounded a scorn and shame. Even at his height So march we forih in th' armour of our right,
And plenitude of power I yearn’d to rise

From our once King not falling off in hate
Against th' enthroned Usurper — now, 0 Kings! Or fickleness, but by severe constraint
Thus charier'd, thus commission'd, thus array'd, Of duty to ourselves and to our God.
With what a noble frenzy will we rush,

So march we forth, and in such state may make
Trampling the wreck of Saxon and of King ; Our mother land to vaunt of us : raise up,
Our path shall be as rapid and as bright

Side by side, the fair airs to captivate As summer meteor, more pernicious, that

To an approval of our upright deed, Waning into the dul unkindling air,

Our royal banner and the Cross of Christ; We burning, desolating as we pass.

And move within their cirque of splendour, calm, On, Britons, on! a tyrant fills your throne,

And yet resistless as the bright-maned steeds Nor fitter monument may tyrant find

That bear the Morn to disenthrone old Night. Than his throne's ruins ; let the flat earth close

“ And now our kingly sceptre, forced aside, O'er both at once; the stranger Saxon lords

By stress and pressure of disorder'd times, Within our isle, the seas that bore him here

Devious into an alien hand, reverts In his storm-braving navy, bear him back

To the old line; the heir of Constantine, Weltering and rossing in their drowning surge."

Constans, the elder than this noble pair, Low'ring he stood, still in fierce act of speech,

Stands foremost on succession's golden roll. Yet speechless. Sudden, then, in dread uproar

Nor know not I his gentle soul more apt, Rose shout of war, with thundering clash of arms

To listen the soft flowing vesper hymn, Mingled, then hurrying spears and nodding helms

Than danger's spini-stirring trump, yet deem, With glittering tumult in the pale gloom flash'd;

Thus once forewarn'd 't is dangerous to divert War, war each voice, each stricken shield denounced. The stream of royal blood, that broken, pours

Waters of bitterness and civil strife Amid the multitudinous din arose

O'er th' harass'd land, and therefore thus hail I Solemnly the Bright City's Lord; down sunk Constans the King of Britain. Speak I right? Instant all tumult, broke abruptly off

I pause, and wait, 0 Chiefs ! your high award." Fierce voice and clash of arms : so mute and deep

He ceased, nor time for voice or swift acclaim, Settled the silence, the low sound was heard of distant waterfall; the acorn drop

Scowling a sullen laugh of scorn, leap'd forth

The mouniain King, the Sovereign of the lakes From the green arch above. Still and abash'd

And dales this side the Caledonian bound ;
Sate the fierce conclave, while with mild reproof
Winning all hearts, the gracious Chieftain spake.

He only, when the Kings sate awe-struck, stood

Elate with mocking pity in his frown; “ Brave sight for earth, and heaven! it doth not fail. A mighty savage, he of God and man A nation's cry for freedom and for faith,

Alike contemptuous : nought of Christian lore Nor faint, nor deaden in the mist and gloom

knew he, yet scoff'd unknown, 't was peaceful, meek, of this low earth, it takes the morning's wings,

Thence worthless knowledge. Him delighted moro Passeth the crystal skies, and beats heaven's gale ; Helvellyn's cloud-wrapt brow to climb, and share There glideth through the gladdening Angel choirs, The eagle's stormy solitude ; 'mid wreck That fan it onward with their favouring plumes,

Of whirlwinds and dire lighinings huge he stood, To the eternal sapphire throne, and him

Where his own Gods he deem'd on volleying clouds That sits thereon, Ineflable. O Kings !

Abroad were riding and black hurricane. Our council thus appealing may not wear

Them in their misty pride assail'd he oft Seeming of earthly passion, lust of sway,

With impious threat, and laugh'd when th' echoing Or frenetic vengeance: we must rise in wrath,

glens But wear it as a mourner's robe of grief,

His wild defiance cast unanswer'd back. Not as a garh of joy: must boldly strike,

Now with curi'd lip of scorn, and brow uplift, But like the Roman, with reverted face,

Lordly command, not counsel fierce he spake. In sorrow to be so enforced. Brave Chiefs,

Shame. coward shame! as though the fowls os It would misseem a son of this proud isle,

heaven, To trample on the fallen, though a King;

When in dusk majesty and pride of wing It would misseem a Christian to rejoice

Sails forth the monarch eagle, down should stoop Where virtue haih plny'd false, and fame's pure light In homage to the daw. O) craven souls ! Hath sicken'd to dishonourable gloom.

When Snowdon or high Skiddaw's brow is bare,

To plant the stately standard of revolt

They in blank wonder sate, nor wholly quell’d Upon a molehill. Constans ! that to him

Wrath and insulted majesty, with look Caswallon should bow down ; aloft our crown As he were still in presence fix’d, and stern. Upon the giddy banner staff, that rocks

Then spake Prince Emrys, “ Not of trivial toil On Troynovant's tall citadel, uphang,

To shape the rude trunk of our enterprise And who the dizzy glory will rend down,

To smooth perfection ; deeply must we found, Or Constans or Caswallon? The bright throne And strongly build the fabric of our hopes, Environ with grim ranks of steel-girt men :

And each must hold his charge. Be, Samor, thine Huge Saxons black with grisly scars of war,

To bear our brother Constans Britain's crown,
Who first will hew to that triumphal seat

In name of our assembled Kings. Be mine
His ruinous path? Hear, sceptred Britons, hear, From the Armoric shore, King Hoel's realm,
A counsel worthy the deep thoughts of kings: (Our father's brother, Hoel) to embark
Of valorous achievement and bold deeds

The succours of his high-famed Chivalry.
Be guerdon to the mightiest of our Isle,

Thou. Uther, to the West ; each other King
The Sou'reignty of Britain ; spurn my voice, Unto his own, at signal of revolt
And I renounce your counsels, cast you off,

To lead his armed Vassalage abroad."
And with my hardy vassals of the north
I join the Saxon."— Then fierce sounds again

So saying, each departed; fell again
Broke out, wan flames of brandish'd armgir flash'd.

The ancient silence on the solemn place. In rude disorder and infuriate haste

Together from the forest pass'd the friends, Sprang every warrior from his seat, as clouds

Samor and Elidure; below their way Amid the sultry heaven, thunderous and vast, Went wandering on through flowery meads, or sank Gather their blackening disarray to burst

Beneath green arches dim of beechen shade. l'pon some mountain turret, so the Chiefs

Around the golden hills in summer wealth Banded their fierre confusion to rush on.

Bask'd in the sunshine ; on a river bank And whelm in his insulting pride the foe.

Long gleaming down its woodland course, reposed He stood as one in joy, and lower'd a smile,

Many a white hamlet: even fierce shrines of war With wolf-skin robe Aung back, broad shield out. Wore aspect mild of peace; towers dark of yore stretch'd,

And rugged in the Roman war array, A battle are uplift: vaunting and huge

With wanton ivy and grey moss o'ergrown, As fabled giant on embattled Heaven,

Their green crowns melted in the azure heavens. Glaring not less than utter overthrow, And total wreck. Forth with a youth rush'd out,

"Oh grief! o'er yon fair meads and smiling lawns His moony buckler high upheld to bar

Must steeds of carnage batten, men of blood The onset, and with voice, which youthful awe

Their fell magnificence of murderous pomp Temper'd to tone less resolule, address'd

Pavilion in yon placid groves of peace. The haughty Chieftain. “Father, deem not thou, The blood-thirsi savages of wood and air, Malwyn confederate in thy lawless thought;

In meet abodes of wilderness and woe,
Mine is a Briton's soul, a Briton's sword,

Shroud their abhorred revels; the gaunt wolf
But mortal man that seeks thy life, must pass Prowls gloomy o'er the wintry blasted heath ;
O'er Malwyn's corpse." Back Chief and King recoila, Brood desolate on some bare mountain peak
In breathless admiration. Nobler pride,

Raven and screaming vulture. Man, fell man, And burnan joy almost to sofiness smoothed

Envious of bliss he scorns, 'mid hannis of peace Caswallon's rugged brow. * Well bast thou said,

Spots fair and blissful, the rare stars of earth, Son of Caswallon, worthy of thy sire !

Plays ever his foul game of spoil and death, On thine own track mount thou to fame, nor swerve

Ruthless, then vaunts himself Creation's pride, For man, or more than man."- A while the Kings Supreme o'er all alone in deeds of blood.” Brief parley held, then stately and severe Rose Emrys, and pronounced their stern arrest.

Thus Elidure; bim Samor, from deep trance

Wakening, address’d: “Sofi man of peace, my prayer -Caswallon of the Mountains, long our isle Would ask of heaven no theatre of strife Hath mark'd thy wavering mood, now friend now Save yon fair plain : there forth the weak would start foe;

In the tumultuons valour of despair, Now in the Caledonian inroad prompt

The timorous proudly tower in scom of death : To bear thy skare in rapine, foremost now

There, where each free, each dell, each grassy knoll, In our high councils. This we further say,

Lovely from memory of some past delight,
We som thy war, Caswallon, hate thy peace, Is kindred to the soul; his house of prayer,
And deem il of our mercy that, unscathed,

The altar of his bridal vow, the font
We ben thee from our presence." Nor reply Of his sweet infant's baptism, kindred all,
Cascallon deign’d; calm strode he as in scorn Holiest and last, his fathers' peaceful graves :
Of wrath 'gainst foes so lowly. Far was heard Oh, were all Britain, like yon beauteous plain,
His tread along the rocky path, the crash

Blissful and free, that angels there might walk or branches rent by his unstooping helm.

Forgetful of their heavenly bowers of light,

Friend of my boyhood, these all-conquering foes, Scornful, she said, Lo, Britain, through your land Who fetter the free winds, and ride the sea

I lead the enthralled sovereign of your isle. Kinglike, their menacing prows would turn aloof, Yet so surpassing fair, brief instant wish'd And bitterly, in bafiled lust of prey,

Those wrathful Briton Chiefs their leafy screen Curse the proud happiness that mock'd their might." A thin transparent cloud : of his high charge

Brief while forgelful, Samor stood entranced, Lo, here he paused, gay files of dazzling light Fearing her form should Neet too swift away. Slow o'er the plain advancing, indistinct From their full brightness ; gradual the long blaze Came it from earth or air, yon savage shape, Broke into form, and lance and bow and helm,

His garb, if garb it be, of shaggy hair Standard and streamer, chariot and fair steed,

Close folding o'er his dusky limbs, his locks Start from the mingled splendour. On their height And waving maited beard like cypress boughs Unseen, the Chieftains watch'd the winding pomp. On bleak heath swaying to the midnight storm ? And all before the azure-vested Bards

Came he from yon deep wood ? On the light spray From glancing instruments shook bridal glee.

No leaf is stirring. On the winged winds Then came the gorgeous chariots, rough with gold,

Rode he? No breeze awakes the noontide air. And steeds their proud heads nodding with rich 'Mid that arm'd throng, dismaying, undismay'd, weight

With a strange eye dilated, as unused Of frontlet wreathed with flowers and shadowy To common sights of earth, and voice that seem'd plumes;

Rarely to hold discourse with human ears, Therein sate ladies robed in costly state,

Joy," and again, and thrice he utiered “ Joy." Each like a Queen; the noble charioteers,

Cower'd Horsa on his palsied steed ; aghast, Briton in garb, with purple mantle loose,

As toiling to despise the thing he fear'd, O'er steel, in network bright, or scale o'er scale,

Sate Hengist. “Joy to Bridegroom and to Bride! Glittering, and aventayle barr'd close and firm,

Why should not man rejoice, and earth be glad ? As yet the gaudy traitors shamed to meet

Beyond the sphere of man, the round of earth, The cold keen glance of countrymen betray'd.

There's loud rejoicing ; 't is not in the heavens ! Dark in their iron arms, some wildly girt

And many ministrant Angels shake their wings With Caledonian spoils, their yellow hair

In gladness, wings that are not plurned with light Down from the casque in broad luxuriant flow

The dead are jocund, not the dead in bliss. Spreading, and lofiy banner wide display'd,

Your couch is blest — by all whose blessings blast, Whereon a milk-white courser reinless shone,

All things uplovely gratulate your love. Paced forth the Saxon warriors. High o'er all,

I see the nuptial pomp, the nuptial song Tempestuous Horsa, chafing his hot steed,

I hear, and full the pomp, for Hate, and Fear, And Hengist with his wreath of amber beads,*

And excellent Dishonour, and bright Shame, His hoary strength, in spite of age or toil,

And rose-cheek'd Grief, and jovial Discontent, A tower of might; with that tall grove of spears,

And that majestic herald, Infamy, Circled, and rampire close of serried shields,

And that high noble, Servitude, are there, T'he bridegroom Monarch rode, his bright attire

A blithesome troop, a gay and festive crew. Peaceful, as fitting nuptial pomp, his robe

And the Land's curses are the bridal hymn; Rich-floating strew'd the earth with purple shade,

Sweetly and shrilly doth th'accordant Isle And on his lofty brow a regal crown,

Imprecale the glad Hymenean song. Bright as a wreath of sunbeams; high his arm

So joy again, I say, 10 Britain's King, The ivory sceptre bore of kingly sway:

That taketh to his bosom Britain's fate,
Yet who his mien and bearing watch'd had seen

Her beautiful destruction to his bed.
Dim gleam of jealous steel, or lurking mail
Beneath those glorious trappings, for his gaze,

And joy to Britain's Queen, who bears her Lord

So bright a dowry and profuse, long years Now jocund, changed anon to wandering stare,

of war and havoc, and fair streams of blood, Fearful and wild, as the still air were rise With vengeful javelins showering death ; his pace

And plenteous ruin, loss of crown and fame,

And full perdition of the immortal soul;
Hurried, yet tardy, as of one who rides

So thrice again I utter •joy,' joy,' joy!”
O'er land still tottering with an earthquake shock.
And him beside, on snowy palfrey, deck'd

Then up sprung spear to strike, and bicker'd bow. With silver bells its pendent mane profuse,

Ere spear could strike, or shaft could fly, the path Of silver and of stainless ermelin

Was bare and vacant; shape nor sound remain'd; The bright caparisons, and all her robes

Only the voice of Vortigern moan'd out, White as of woven lily cups, the Bride

" Merlin,"— and on the long procession pas'd. Majestic rode as on a waving throne.

Down in a quiet dale, where beechen groves Her sunbright hair she waved, and smiled around,

With interchanging gold and glossy green As though, of less than kingly Paramour

O'ermantled the smooth slopes, that fell around * He is so decorated by the Welsh Poets. Sce Transl. of the Like a fair amphitheatre, beneath Brut. of Tysilio, by Peter Roberts.

A brook went wand'ring through fresh meadow banks,

To Britain's throne?" “Even free as I renounce The everlasting enemy of man." “Will thy voice mingle with the general cry, “Long live King Emrys?'”-“ Long may Emrys live, Even the eternal life beyond the grave."

“ Yet one word more: 't is perilous in the storm For the tall pine, nor less, in evil days, For the high-born and exalted of the state. The Saxon blood-hounds are abroad for prey, Seek thou some quiet solitude remote, Beyond their prowling range."--His arm to Heaven Slowly uplified, “ Will they reach me there ?" Spake the meek Hermit, “ there is rest secure.”

They parted; gentle Elidure alone, Lingering with somewhat of an envious gaze, View'd the deep quiet of that placid del).

With a cool summer dashing, here the Chiefs
The royal liermit met, his gentle brow
Smooth as a slumbering Angel's plumes (effaced
All traces of this rude and wearing earth,
All brands of fiery passions, wild desires)
Wore that calm holiness the sainted dead
Smile on the visions of their loved on earth :
His life was like a sleep, with heavenly sights,
And harmonies, as of angelic sounds
Visited ever, nor his barren heart
Touch'd not the light affections, trembled not
His spirit with love's fervent swell, but all
Most wont to bear man's soul to earth, round him
As the thin morning clouds around the lark,
Gather'd, to float him upward to the heavens.

They at his feet down laid the kingly crown,
Fulfill'd their lofiy mission. He, the while,
With that mild sadness he had watch'd the leaves
Drip from the sere autumnal bough, survey'd
Its stately glittering. Man of earth, why mock,
With gaudy pageantry, and titled pomp,
The frail and transient pilgrims of this world.
The fading flag-flower on yon streamlet brink,
Were garland meeter for our mortal brows
Than yon rich blaze of gems." Prince," Samor

* Sweet is it down the silent vale of life
To glide away, of all but Heaven forgot,
Forgetting all but Heaven. Of king-born men,
Lords of mankind, high delegates of Heaven,
Lottier the doom, their rare prerogative
The luxury of conferring bliss. Oh, Prince !
Not by the stream to slumber, nor to waste
Idly in joyous dreams the drowsy hours,
Haih Heaven thy kingly heritage ordain'd;
Set badge of Empiry on thy brow: of god
The noblest service is to serve mankind,
To save a nation all a mortal's power,
To imitate the Saviour of the world."


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That night were seen along the dusky wood, Of more than human stature moving forms, Pale faces circled with black iron helms, Not of the Briton shape their garb or arms; Stealthy their pace and slow; the peasants thought Demons of evil that sad night had power, And pray'd Heaven's grace to guard the saintly man.

At morn roved forth the peasant, down the dale His dog went bounding to the Hermit's cell, For all mute creatures loved the man of God. A quick and desolate moaning nearer callid The peasant; in officious grief the dog Stood licking the cold hand that drooping hung Lifeless; the mild composure of his brow On the cross rested; praying he had died, And his cold features yet were smiling prayer.


Calm answer'd Constans : " Earth's exalted fame, Grandeurs and glories gleam upon my soul Like wintery sun-light on a plain of snow. With prayers, a Hermii's arms, I aid your causeFarewell. Why pause ye, as to question more The wisdom of my choice-lo, yon fair orb; How spotless the fine azure where he holds His secret palace, knows not his pure light A stain of dimness, till th' abode of men Pours o'er it is infectious mists.” “Oh, Prince ! "T is not the glory of that peerless light, The barren glittering, the unfruitful waste 01 splendour on the still inanimate skies; It is the life, the motion, and the joy It breathes along this world of man, the broad Munificence of blessing that awakes, And in its rapturous gratitude springs up, To glorify its bounteous source of pride."

Orient the bright-hair'd Charioteer of heaven
Pour'd daylight from his opal wheels, and struck
From the blue pavement of the sky clear flakes
Of azure light upon the Eastern sea.
And as the grey mists slowly curld away,
Rose the white cliffs of Kent, like palace fair,
Or fane of snowy marble, to enshrine
Blue Amphitrite, or the Sea-Gods old
Of Pagan mariner. Rode tall below
The Saxon navy, as from midnight sleep
Wakening ; the grey sails in the breeze of morn
'Gan tremble, gleaming oars flash in the spray.
The Sea-Kings on the beach in parley stern
Were mei, nor less than nation's doom and fate
of kingdoms in their voice. Lo, in the midst
Stood huge Caswallon; word of mild salute
Deign'd not, but thus addrest the Ocean Lord.

“ I see thy brow at thine own words on fire; Mine. Samor, yel is calm and cold.” “Dost thou, Constans, all title, claim, and right renounce

"Saxon! that o'er this fair and princely ísle Thou wouldst win empire by the sword of war, I marvel not, arraign not-'t is a dream, Noble as o'er the heavens to walk abroad,

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