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Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and brightAs in that well-remember'd nightWhen first thy mystic braid was wove,And first my Agnes whisper'd love.
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A light on Marmion’s visage spread,And fired his glazing eye:With dying hand, above his head,He shook the fragment of his blade,And shouted 'Victory!-Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!'Were the last words of Marmion.
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I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.
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Although too much of a soldier among sovereigns, no one could claim with better right to be a sovereign among soldiers.
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A miss is as good as a mile.
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Spangling the wave with lights as vainAs pleasures in the vale of pain,That dazzle as they fade.
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Woman's faith and woman's trust,Write the characters in dust.
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No pale gradations quench his ray,No twilight dews his wrath allay.