| Here mossy fountains pour their cooling wave |
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| Once I saw, in pride of beauty |
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| Come, come away, unto the silent grove |
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| The Bard |
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| Happy old man! here, 'mid your well-known streams |
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| He spake, and, springing from th' embattled ground |
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| When the violet blows |
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| Who is that mourner bending o'er yon grave |
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| Dactylic Tetrameter |
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| Malvacea calls her tribes around her throne |
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