Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/79

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All my pretty ones! Did you say all? ———— Let us make medicine of this great revenge, To cure this deadly grief! Macbeth.

battle-vow!—no minster walls Gave back the burning word, Nor cross nor shrine the low deep tone Of smother'd vengeance heard: But the ashes of a ruin'd home Thrill'd, as it sternly rose, With the mingling voice of blood that shook The midnight's dark repose.