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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            XV.
             
      To-night the winds begin to rise
          And roar from yonder dropping day:
          The last red leaf is whirl’d away,
      The rooks are blown about the skies;

      The forest crack’d, the waters curl’d,
          The cattle huddled on the lea;
          And wildly dash’d on tower and tree
      The sunbeam strikes along the world:

      And but for fancies, which aver
          That all thy motions gently pass
          Athwart a plane of molten glass,
      I scarce could brook the strain and stir

      That makes the barren branches loud;
          And but for fear it is not so,
          The wild unrest that lives in woe
      Would dote and pore on yonder cloud

      That rises upward always higher,
          And onward drags a labouring breast,
          And topples round the dreary west,
      A looming bastion fringed with fire.
       


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