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Rh

Yet 'twas not might of foreign foe That laid yon ruined fortress low! Our slender bark makes little way Striving against the current's flight, And soon the sun's fast fading ray Will melt into the shades of night. Come—I will tell the tale to thee, While our small pinnace lazily Glides to its place of destined rest; And while on Jumna's roseate breast The beautiful reflection glows Of turret tall and arching port, And on its liquid mirror shews The outline of the crumbling fort. Then winding through yon steep defile We'll leave these lowly scenes a while, And wandering o'er the teeming plains White with the cotton's bursting pod, Or through the clustering sugar canes, The crested parrot's sweet abode,