Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep : they do not sleep ! On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit; they linger yet Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony... A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands - Page 392 edited by - 1765 Full view -
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