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’TIS the latest day of the latest year, And the latest hour of the latest day. The wan light swooneth as with fear Around Truth’s prison hoary-grey; Sweet Lady, she, and loved right dear— But ah, the Briars, The Thorns and Briars!

And to-night the stealthy Briars mean death To Truth so long in thraldom pent; This night, to suck her struggling breath The last malignant shoot is sent.