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Rh Tor the stumpy plains of Hubbardton. This jocose remark provoked their wrath, And after hours of fruitless search, They swore they would burn the town If the stolen body was not produced, If not brought forth from its lurking place In this ancient seat of learning, In this Green Mountain Athens, In the land of slates and quarries, In the land of purple and green slates, Slates that never fade nor tarnish.

The search was renewed by these raiders, A closer search by these citizen-soldiers, By these citizen-soldiers in long drab coats, Coats with shingled-off capes at the elbows, Stamping round the hall in cowhide boots, Pegged and nailed by rustic shoemakers, From the land of early rose potatoes.