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 * From Lisboa now the frequent vesper bell

Vibrates o'er Tago's stream with solemn knell. Turn'd by the call my pensive eye surveys That mighty scene of Hist'ry's shame and praise. Methinks I hear the yells of horror rise From slaughter'd thousands shrieking to the skies, As factious rage or blinded zeal of yore Roll'd their dire chariot wheelschariot-wheels [sic] through streams of gore. Now throbs of other glow my soul employ; I hear the triumph of a nation's joy , From