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            SONG
        The winds, as at their hour of birth,
             Leaning upon the ridged sea,
        Breathed low around the rolling earth
             With mellow preludes, ‘We are free.’

        The streams, through many a lilied row
             Down-carolling to the crisped sea,
        Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
             Atween the blossoms, ‘We are free.’