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118  Oh magnificent repose: Youth—hope—valour, what have they Like to death’s sublime array?

of my country! how sublime E’en in these latter days art thou, When stream and light’ning, war and time Have wrested from thy triple brow Its crown of forests—that of yore Like some aërial palace rose, And oft when every sea and shore Were peopled with thy children’s foes, Within its mighty foliage gave A living shelter to the brave! Well might our simple fathers say That he who dares one night to dwell— One night to dream away On thy sublimest pinnacle— Must wake a holier man Than when the night began!