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" there," he said, "my fair American!

Yon noisy child

I'd like to choke, being but 'brutal man;'

That Mother mild

"Takes all its howls for music, comforts it

With song and kiss:

And gives it, at the loudest of its fit,

Her milky bliss.

"And there again,—yon little lambkin bleating,

Made for mint-sauce:

At its first cry the Ewe quits clover-eating

And runs, perforce.