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One un by day, by night ten thouand hine.

IS pat! The ultry tyrant of the outh Has pent his hort-liv'd rage; more grateful hours Move ilent on; the kies no more repel The dazzled ight, but with mild maiden beams Of temper'd light, invite the cherih'd eye To wander o'er their phere; where hung aloft 's bright crecent, like a ilver bow New trung in heaven, lifts high its beamy horns