Dweller in yon dungeon dark,Hangman of creation, mark!Who in widow weeds appears,Laden with unhonoured years,Noosing with care a bursting purse,Baited with many a deadly curse?
Thou little bird, thou Dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Along the waves dost thou fly? Oh! rather, bird, with me Through this fair land rejoice!
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