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now proceeded from his pen—Mador of the Moor, a The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye, poem in the Spenserian stanza; The Pilgrims of the And the nut that hang frae the hazel tree ; Sun, in blank verse; The Hunting of Budlewe, The For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. Poetic Mirror, Queen Hynde, Dramatic Tales, &c. Also But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', several novels, as Winter Evening Tales, The Brownie | And lang may she seek i' the greenwood shaw; of Bodsbeck, The Three Perils of Man, The Three Perils Lang the saird of Duneira blame, of Woman, The Confessions of a Sinner, &c. &c. And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame! Hogg's prose is very unequal. He had no skill in When many a day had come and fled, arranging incidents or delineating character. He is When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, often coarse and extravagant; yet some of his stories When inass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, have much of the literal truth and happy minute When the beadsman had prayed, and the dead-bell painting of Defoe. . The worldly schemes of the rung, shepherd were seldom successful. Though he had Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still, failed as a sheep farmer, he ventured again, and took When the fringe was red on the western hill, a large farm, Mount Benger, from the Duke of Buc- The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, cleuch. Here he also was unsuccessful; and his sole The reek o' the cot hung over the plain support, for the latter years of his life, was the re

Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane; muneration afforded by his literary labours.

He When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, lived in a cottage which he had built at Altrive, on Late, late in the gloamin, Kilmeny came hame! a piece of moorland (seventy acres) presented to Kilineny, Kilmeny, where have you been? him by the Duchess of Buccleuch. His love of Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean; angling and field-sports amounted to a passion, and By linn, by ford, and greenwood tree, when he could no longer fish or hunt, he declared Yet you are halesome and fair to see. his belief that his death was near. In the autumn

Where gat ye that joup o' the lily shecn! of 1835 he was attacked with a dropsical complaint; That bonny snood of the birk sae green ? and on the 21st November of that year, after some

And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen! days of insensibility, he breathed his last as calmly, Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? and with as little pain, as he ever fell asleep in his But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face;

Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, gray plaid on the hill-side. His death was deeply mourned in the vale of Ettrick, for all rejoiced in As still was her look, and as still was her ee, his fame; and notwithstanding his personal foibles, Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.

As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, the shepherd was generous, kind-hearted, and chari. For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, table far beyond his means. In the activity and versatility of his powers, Hogs Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,

And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare; resembled Allan Ramsay more than he did Burns. Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew, Neither of them had the strength of passion or the But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, grasp of intellect peculiar to Burns; but, on the And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, other hand, their style was more discursive, playful, When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, and fanciful. Burns seldom projects himself, as it

And a land where sin had never been. were, out of his own feelings and situation, whereas

In both Ramsay and Hogg are happiest when they soar And in that waik there is a wene,

yon greenwood there is a waik, into the world of fancy or the scenes of antiquity.

And in that wene there is a maike
The Ettrick Shepherd abandoned himself entirely to That neither hath flesh, blood, nor bane;
the genius of old romance and legendary story. He And down in yon greenwood he walks his lane
loved, like Spenser, to luxuriate in fairy visions, and in that green wene Kilmeny lay,
to picture scenes of supernatural splendour and Her bosom happed wi' the flowrets gay;
beauty, where

But the air was soft, and the silence deep,
The emerald fields are of dazzling glow,

And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep;

She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee,
And the flowers of everlasting blow.

Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye, His Kilmeny'is one of the finest fairy tales that ever She wakened on couch of the silk sae slim, was conceived by poet or painter; and passages in All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim; the ‘Pilgrims of the Sun' have the same abstract And lovely beings round were rife, remote beauty and lofty imagination. Burns would Who erst had travelled mortal life. have scrupled to commit himself to these aërial They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair, phantoms. His visions were more material, and They kissed her cheek, and they kamed her hair, linked to the joys and sorrows of actual existence. And round came many a blooming fere, Akin to this peculiar feature in Hogg's poetry is Saying, “ Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here! the spirit of most of his songs-a wild lyrical flow of fancy, that is sometimes inexpressibly sweet and They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, musical. He wanted art to construct à fable, and And she walked in the light of a sunless day; taste to give due effect to his imagery and concep- The sky was a dome of crystal bright, tions; but there are few poets who impress us so

The fountain of vision, and fountain of light; much with the idea of direct inspiration, and that The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, poetry is indeed an art unteachable and untaught. And the flowers of everlasting blow.

Then deep in the stream her body they laid,
Bonny Kilmeny.

That her youth and beauty never might fade;

And they smiled on heaven when they saw her lie (From the Queen's Wake]

In the stream of life that wandered by ; Bonny Kilmeny gned up the glen ;

And she heard a song, she heard it sung, But it wa-na to meet Duneira's men,

She kend not where, but sae sweetly it rung, Nor the rosy unouk of the isle to see,

It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn. For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.

‘O! blest be the day Kilmeny was born! It was only to hear the yorlin sing,

The sun that shines on the world sae bright, And pu' the cress-flower round the spring;

A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light;

74

And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun,
Like a gowden bow, or a beamless sun,
Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair,
And the angels shall miss them travelling the air.
But lang, lang after baith night and day,
When the sun and the world have eelyed away ;
When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom,
Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!'

Then Kilmeny begged again to see The friends she had left in her own countrye, To tell of the place where she had been, And the glories that lay in the land unseen. With distant music, soft and deep, They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; And when she awakened, she lay her lane, All happed with flowers in the greenwood wene. When seven lang years had come and fled, When grief was calm and hope was dead, When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame! And oh, her beauty was fair to see, But still and steadfast was her ee; Such beauty bard may never declare, For there was no pride nor passion there; And the soft desire of maiden's een, In that mild face could never be seen. Her seymar was the lily flower, And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; And her voice like the distant melodye, That floats along the twilight sea. But she loved to raike the lanely glen, And keeped afar frae the haunts of men, Her holy hymns unheard to sing, To suck the flowers and drink the spring, But wherever her peaceful form appeared, The wild beasts of the hill were cheered ; The wolf played blithely round the field, The lordly bison lowed and kneeled, The dun deer wooed with manner bland, And cowered aneath her lily hand. And when at eve the woodlands rung, When hymns of other worlds she sung, In ecstacy of sweet devotion, Oh, then the glen was all in motion; The wild beasts of the forest came, Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, And goved around, charined and amazed; Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, And murmured, and looked with anxious pain For something the mystery to explain. The buzzard came with the throstle-cock; The corby left her houf in the rock; The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew; The hind came tripping o'er the dew; The wolf and the kid their raike began, And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; The hawk and the hern attour them hung, And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young ; And all in a peaceful ring were hurled : It was like an eve in a sinless world! When a month and a day had come and gane, Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene, There laid her down on the leaves so green, And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen!

Stranger of heaven! I bid thee hail!

Shred from the pall of glory risen, That flashest in celestial gale,

Broad pennon of the King of Hearen! Art thou the flag of wo and death,

From angel's ensign-staff unfurled ? Art thou the standard of his wrath

Waved o'er a sordid sinful world ! No, from that pure pellucid beam,

That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone, No latent evil we can deem,

Bright herald of the eternal throne ! Whate'er portends thy front of fire,

Thy streaming locks so lovely pale Or peace to man, or judgments dire,

Stranger of heaven, I bid thee hail! Where hast thou roamed these thousand years!

Why sought these polar paths again, From wilderness of glowing spheres,

To fling thy vesture o'er the wain? And when thou scal'st the Milky Way,

And vanisbest from human view, A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray

Through wilds of you empyreal blue ! -0! on thy rapid prow to glide!

To sail the boundless skies with thee, And plough the twinkling stars aside,

Like foam-bells on a tranquil sea! To brush the embers from the sun,

The icicles from off the pole; Then far to other systems run,

Where other moons and planets roll! Stranger of heaven! O let thine eye

Smile on a rapt enthusiast's dream; Eccentric as thy course on high,

And airy as thine ambient beam! And long, long may thy silver ray

Our northern arch at ere adorn; Then, wheeling to the east away,

Light the gray portals of the mom!

JVhen the K'ye comes Hame. Come all ye jolly shepherds

That whistle through the glen, I'll tell ye of a secret

That courtiers dinna ken; What is the greatest bliss

That the tongue o' man can name! 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame,

When the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk,

When the kye comes hame. 'Tis not beneath the coronet,

Nor canopy of state, 'Tis not on couch of velvet,

Nor arbour of the great'Tis beneath the spreading birk,

In the glen without the name, Wi'a bonnie, bonnie lassie,

When the kye comes hame. There the blackbird bigs his nest

For the mate he lo’es to see, And on the topmost bough,

0, a happy bird is he! * It was reckoned by many that this was the same comnet which appeared at the birth of our Saviour.-llogg.

To the Comet of 1811. How lovely is this wildered scene,

As twilight from her vaults so blue Steals soft o'er Yarrow's mountains green,

To sleep embalıned in midnight dew! All hail, ye hills, whose towering height,

Like shadows, scoops the yielding sky! And thou, mysterious guest of night,

Dread traveller of immensity!

Kiltan pumniyhim.

Then he pours his melting ditty,

neighbouring proprietor, but shortly afterwards And love is a' the theme,

became factor or land-steward to Mr Miller of Dale And he'll woo his bonnie lassie

swinton, Burns's landlord at Ellisland. Mr CunWhen the kye comes hame.

ningham had few advantages in his early days, When the blewart bears a pearl,

unless it might be residence in a fine pastoral and And the daisy turns a pea,

romantic district, then consecrated by the presence And the bonnie lucken gowan

Has fauldit up her ee,
Then the lavrock frae the blue lift,

Draps down, and thinks nae shame
To woo his bonnie lassie

When the kye comes hame.
See yonder pawky shepherd

That lingers on the hill-
His yowes are in the fauld,

And his lambs are lying still ;
Yet he downa gang to bed,

For his heart is in a flame
To meet his bonnie lassie

When the kye comes hame.
When the little wee bit heart

Rises high in the breast,
And the little wee bit starn

Rises red in the east,
O there's a joy sae dear,

That the heart can hardly frame,
Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie,

When the kye comes hame.
Then since all nature joins

In this love without alloy,
O, wha wad prove a traitor

To nature's dearest joy?
Or wha wad choose a crown,

Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss his bonnie lassie
When the kye comes hame.
When the kye comes hame,
When the kye comes hame,

and the genius of Burns. His uncle having attained 'Tween the gloamin and the mirk,

some eminence as a country builder, or mason, When the kye comes hame.

Allan was apprenticed to him, with a view to join

ing or following him in his trade; but this scheme The Skylark.

did not hold, and in 1810 he removed to London, Bird of the wilderness,

and connected himself with the newspaper press. Blithesome and cumberless,

In 1814 he was engaged as clerk of the works, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

or superintendent, to the late Sir Francis Chantrey, Emblem of happiness,

the eminent sculptor, in whose establishment he Blest is thy dwelling-place

continued till his death, October 29, 1842. Mr O to abide in the desert with thee!

Cunningham was an indefatigable writer. He Wild is thy lay and loud,

early contributed poetical effusions to the perioFar in the downy cloud,

dical works of the day, and nearly all the songs Love gives it energy, love gave it birth,

and fragments of verse in Cromek's Remains of Where, on thy dewy wing,

Nithsdale and Galloway Song (1810) are of his Where art thou journeying?

composition, though published by Cromek as wie Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

doubted originals. Some of these are warlike and

Jacobite, some amatory and devotional (the wild O'er fell and fountain sheen,

lyrical breathings of Covenanting love and picty O'er moor and mountain green,

among the hills), and all of them abounding in O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, traits of Scottish rural life and primitive manners. Over the cloudlet dim,

As songs, they are not pitched in a key to be Over the rainbow's rim,

popular; but for natural grace and tenderness, and Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

rich Doric simplicity and fervour, these pseudo-anThen, when the gloaming comes,

tique strains of Mr Cunningham are inimitable. In Low in the heather blooms,

1822 he published Sir Marmaduke Marwell, a draSweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

matic poem, founded on Border story and supersti. Emblem of happiness,

tion, and afterwards two volumes of Traditional Blest is thy dwelling-place

Tales. Three novels of a similar description, but O to abide in the desert with thee!

more diffuse and improbablenamely, Paul Jones, Sir Michael Scott, and Lord Roldan, also proceeded

from his fertile pen. In 1832 he appeared again as ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

a poet, with a 'rustic epic,' in twelve parts, entitled ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, a happy imitator of the old The Maid of Elvar. He edited a collection of ScotScottish ballads, and a man of various talents, was tish songs, in four volumes, and an edition of Burns born at Blackwood, near Dalswinton, Dumfriesshire, in eight volumes, to which he prefixed a life of the December 7, 1784. His father was gardener to a poet, enriched with new anecdotes and information

[graphic]

To Murray's Family Library he contributed a series But I'll water't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie, of Lives of Eminent British Painters, Sculptors, and An' green it will grow in my ain countrie. Architects, which extended to six volumes, and Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, proved the most popular of all his prose works. O hamie, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! His last work (completed just two days before his o there's naught frae ruin my country can save, death) was a Life of Sir David Wilkie, the distin. But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave, guished artist, in three volumes. All these literary That a'the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie, labours were produced in intervals from his stated May rise again and fight for their ain countrie. avocations in Chantrey's studio, which most men Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, would have considered ample employment. His O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! taste and attainments in the fine arts were as The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save, remarkable a feature in his history as his early The new grass is springing on the tap o' their graves; ballad strains; and the prose style of Mr Cunning. But the sun through the mirk blinks blithe in my een ham, when engaged on a congenial subject, was • I'll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.' justly admired for its force and freedom. There was Hame, hame, hane, hame fain wad I be, always a freshness and energy about the man and Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! his writings that arrested the attention and excited the imagination, though his genius was but little under the control of a correct or critical judgment.

[Fragment.] Strong nationality and inextinguishable ardour

Gane were but the winter-cauld, formed conspicuous traits in his character ; and

And gane were but the snaw, altogether, the life of Mr Cunningham was a fine

I could sleep in the wild woods, example of successful original talent and perse

Where primroses blaw, verance, undebased by any of the alloys by which the former is too often accompanied.

Cauld's the snaw at my head,

And cauld at my feet,

And the finger o' death's at my een,
The Young Maxwell.

Closing them to sleep. • Where gang ye, thou silly auld carle ?

Let nane tell my father, And what do ye carry there?

Or my mither sae dear, • I'm gaun to the hill-side, thou sodger gentleman,

I'll meet them baith in heaven
To shift my sheep their lair.'

At the spring o' the year.
Ae stride or twa took the silly auld carle,
An'a gude lang stride took he:

She's Gane to Drall in Hearen.
I trow thou to be a feck auld carle,

She's gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie, Will ye shaw the way to me?'

She's gane to dwall in heaven: And he has gane wi' the silly auld carle,

Ye're owre pure, quo' the voice of God, Adown by the greenwood side;

For dwalling out o' heaven! * Light down and gang, thou sodger gentleman,

O what'l she do in heaven, my lassie ? For here ye canna ride.'

( what'l she do in heaven! He drew the reins o' his bonnie gray steed,

She'll mix her ain thoughts wi' angels' sangs, An' lightly down he sprang:

An' inake them mair meet for heaven.
Of the comeliest scarlet was his weir coat,
Whare the gowden tassels hang.

She was beloved by a', my lassie,

She was beloved by a';
He has thrown aff his plaid, the silly auld carle, But an angel fell in love wi' her,
An' his bonnet frac "boon his bree;

An' took her frae us a'.
An' wha was it but the young Maxwell!
An' his gude brown sword drew he!

Low there thou lies, my lassie,

Low there thou lies; 'Thou killed my father, thou vile South’ron !

A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird,
An' ye killed my brethren three !

Nor frae it will arise!
Whilk brake the heart o' my ae sister,
I loved as the light o' my ee !

Fu’soon I'll follow thee, my lassie,

Fu' soon I'll follow thee; Draw out yere sword, thou vile South'ron!

Thou left me nought to covet ahin',
Red wat wi' blude o' my kin!

But took gudeness sel' wi' thee.
That sword it crapped the bonniest flower
E'er lifted its head to the sun!

I looked on thy death-cold face, my lassie,

I looked on thy death-cold face; There's ae sad stroke for my dear auld father!

Thou seemed a lily new cut i' the bud,
There's twa for my brethren three!

An' fading in its place.
An' there's ane to thy heart for my ae sister,
Wham I loved as the light o' my ee.'

I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie,

I looked on thy death-shut eye;
Hame, llame, Hame.

An' a lovelier light in the brow of heaven

Fell time shall ne'er destroy.
Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie,
When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the Thy lips were ruddy and calm;
tree,

But gane was the holy breath ohearen The larks shall sing nie hame in my ain countrie;

To sing the evening psalm. Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,

There's naught but dust now mine, lassie, O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

There's naught but dust now mine; The green leaf o' loyalty's begun for to fa',

My saul's wi' thee i' the cauld grave, The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';

An' why should I stay behin'!

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea. A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.
O for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry ;
But give to me the snoring breeze,

And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my boys,

The good ship tight and free-
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.
There's tempest in yon horned moon,

And lightning in yon cloud ;
And hark the music, mariners,

The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashing free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

Even while I muse, I see thee sit
In maiden bloom and matron wit-
Fair, gentle as when first I sued,
Ye seein, but of sedater mood;
Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee
As when, beneath Arbigland tree,
We stayed and wooed, and thought the moon
Set on the sea an hour too soon ;
Or lingered ’mid the falling dew,
When looks were fond and words were few.
Though I see smiling at thy feet
Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet ;
And time, and care, and birth-time woes
Have dimmed thine eye, and touched thy rose
To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong
All that charms me of tale or song ;
When words come down like dews unsought,
With gleams of deep enthusiast thought,
And fancy in her heaven flies free-
They come, my love, they come from thee.
0, when more thought we gave of old
To silver than some give to gold;
'Twas sweet to sit and ponder o'er
What things should deck our humble bower!
'Twas sweet to pull in hope with thee
The golden fruit from Fortune's tree;
And sweeter still to choose and twine
A garland for these locks of thine-
A song-wreath which may grace my Jean,
While rivers flow and woods are green.
At times there come, as come there ought,
Grave moments of sedater thought-
When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night
One gleam of her inconstant light;
And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower,
Shines like the rainbow through the shower,
0, then I see, while seated nigh,
A mother's heart shine in thine eye;
And proud resolve and purpose meek,
Speak of thee more than words can speak:
I think the wedded wife of mine
The best of all that's not divine.

My Nanie 0.
Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae,

Mirk is the night and rainie 0,
Though heaven and earth should mix in storm,

I'll gang and see my Nanie 0);
My Nanie O, my Nanie 0;

My kind and winsome Nanie 0,
She holds my heart in love's dear bands,

And nane can do't but Nanie 0.
In preaching time sae meek she stands,

Sae saintly and sae bonnie 0,
I cannot get ae glimpse of grace,

For thieving looks at Nanie 0; My Nanie O, my Nanie 0);

The world's in love with Nanie 0;
That heart is hardly worth the wear

That wadna love my Nanie 0.
My breast can scarce contain my heart,

When dancing she moves finely 0;
I guess what heaven is by her eyes,

They sparkle sae divinely 0;
My Nanie O, my Nanie 0;

The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie 0);
Love looks frae 'neath her lang brown hair,

And says, I dwell with Nanie 0.
Tell not, thou star at gray daylight,

O'er Tilwald-top so bonnie 0,
My footsteps 'mang the morning dew

When coming frae my Nanie 0;
My Nanie 0, my Nanie 0);

Nane ken o me and Nanie 0;
The stars and moon may tell't aboon,

They winna wrang my Nanie O!

WILLIAM TENNANT. In 1812 appeared a singular mock heroic poem, Anster Fair, written in the ottava rima stanza, since made so popular by Byron in his Beppo and Don Juan. The subject was the marriage of Maggie Lauder, the famous heroine of Scottish song, but the author wrote not for the multitude familiar with Maggie's rustic glory. He aimed at pleasing the admirers of that refined conventional poetry, half serious and sentimental, and half ludicrous and satirical, which was cultivated by Berni, Ariosto, and the lighter poets of Italy. There was classic imagery on familiar subjects — supernatural machinery (as in the Rape of the Lock) blended with the ordinary details of domestic life, and with lively and fanciful description. An exuberance of animal spirits seemed to carry the author over the most perilous ascents, and his wit and fancy were rarely at fault. Such a pleasant sparkling volume, in a style then unhackneyed, was sure of success. “Anster Fair' sold rapidly, and has since been often republished. The author, WILLIAM TENNANT, is a native of Anstruther, or Anster, who, whilst filling the situation of clerk in a mercantile establishment, studied ancient and modern literature, and taught himself Hebrew. His attainments were rewarded in 1813 with an appointment as parislı schoolmaster, to which was attached a salary of L.40 per annum -a reward not unlike that conferred on Mr Abraham Adams in Joseph Andrews, who being a scholar and man of virtue, was ‘provided with a handsome in

The Poet's Bridal-Day Song. O! my love's like the steadfast sun, Or streams that deepen as they run; Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, Nor moments between sighs and tearsNor nights of thought, nor days of pain, Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vainNor mirth, nor sweetest song which flows To sober joys and soften woes, Can make my heart or fancy flee One moment, my sweet wife, from thee.

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