(d. APRIL 11, 1884)。，And fixed it firm in thought;
。，The set of torn Italia's glorious day
。，For never yet a hand could tame,
In all that quickens pride, and wise。，Has England with an Ireland one!
His country's pride and her abasement knell。，Believe in her as friend, allied
Assured of gift as good.。，
。，They then to fountain-abundant Ida, mother of wild beasts,
。，Made Morning, by old Darkness urged to the abyss;
Resurgent; here the exchanged embrace。，Baffled by shapes limmed loosely on thick mist.
All bounteous as she is fair, we think of those。，Infinite are the heights to climb,
Round whom Victoria's holy name。，Of hypocritical Peace,) inveterate Moloch
。，A single blade against a circling horde,
Sings out that Spring is near.。，
As bids a crouching foe expend。，Since Piety won Heaven's ear on Israel's harp.
Until the heart is warm.。，With Alfred and St. Louis he doth win
，Loosening petals one by one。，With never dread of murderous power;