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Excerpt from The House of Morville: A Historical Drama, in Five Acts
Our: bard to-night aspires, with wild design, One ivy sprig around that crown to twine One wreath, which late, with trembling hope, he From feudal walls, and fallen towers, of yore. Oh may its leaves escape your colder frown, And bloom their hour on winter's icy crown And should their spell one tear from beauty gain, Or smooth one wrinkle from the cheeks of pain 5 Should pity dwell on one congenial scene, Not idly spent his studious hours have been 5 For we in vain our duteous task pursue.
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