Like the brave Lion slain in her defence.
Notes could we hear as of a faery shell
Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught;
Free fancy prized each specious miracle,
And all its finer inspiration caught
Mid the green bower, and in our rustic Cell;
Till we by lamentable change were taught
That bliss with mortal man may not abide,
How nearly joy and sorrow are allied![S]
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