"But still," they cry, "let none their censures spare;
They but confirm the glorious hopes we share;
From doubt, disdain, derision, scorn, and lies,
With five-fold triumph sacred truth shall rise."
Yes! I allow, so truth shall stand at last,
And gain fresh glory by the conflict past—
As Solway-Moss (a barren mass and cold,
Death to the seed, and poison to the fold,)
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The smiling plain and fertile vale o'erlaid,