Chapter LXXI

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Alas! the omen--in this awful hour,
While Discord and Disunion rend the land!
Did'st thou take with thee Freedom's priceless dower?
Did'st thou resume the gift of thine own hand,
And bear the affrighted Goddess to the skies?
Are there no mourners o'er thy obsequies?
None, who, with high resolves, approach thy grave?
Or--flits a spirit there, that frights the modern brave?