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TH EOD RIC;

A DOMESTIC TALE.

Twas sunset, and the Ranz des Vaches was sung, And lights were o'er th' Helvetian mountains Aung, That gave the glacier tops their richest glow, And tinged the lakes like molten gold below. Warmth flush'd the wonted regions of the storm, Where, Phænix-like, you saw the eagle's form, That high in Heav’n’s vermilion wheeld and soar’d. Woods nearer frown'd, and cataracts dash'd and roard,

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