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Rh And beasts and borderers throng the way; Oxen and bleating lambs in lots, Northumbrian boors and plaided Scots,
 * Men in the coal and cattle line;

From Teviot’s bard and hero land, From royal Berwick’s5 beach of sand, From Wooller, Morpeth, Hexham, and
 * Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

These are not the romantic times So beautiful in Spenser’s rhymes,
 * So dazzling to the dreaming boy:

Ours are the days of fact, not fable, Of knights, but not of the round table,
 * Of Bailie Jarvie, not Rob Roy:

’Tis what “our President,” Monroe,
 * Has called “the era of good feeling:”

The Highlander, the bitterest foe To modern laws, has felt their blow, Consented to be taxed, and vote, And put on pantaloons and coat,
 * And leave off cattle-stealing:

Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt, The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt,
 * The Douglass in red herrings;

And noble name and cultured land, Palace, and park, and vassal-band, Are powerless to the notes of hand
 * Of Rothschild or the Barings.