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Rh And bogles dance o’er heroes graves, there lives Dumbarton’s belle; [She’s blest with every charm in life, and this I know full well— I’ll ne’er be happy till my wife Is blythe Dumbarton’s belle.]

Sequester’d here, afar from fame, And hopes enchanting smile I spend in wo life ebbing slow On this remote, secluded isle Where all I spy is sea or sky Round this horrific steep And nought I hear but howlings drear From off foaming deep

O lovely Seine, thy banks so green, Alas no more I’ll tread, No future morn to me forlorn, Can bring the happy scenes now fled. Thy glades and groves where pleasures roves I bade a last adieu When fortune’s star, my doom, by war, Resolved at Waterloo.

No pleasure brings the blazing sun, Tho’ in the glow of day Nor solemn night star-spangled bright Can drive my exile-grief away,