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Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; Then rushed the steed, to battle driven ; And louder than the bolts of Heaven Far flashed the red artillery.
Campbell. " Hohenlinden."
Let's contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep; All be as before, Love,
R. Browning. "A Woman's Last Word.'
Now all is hushed save where the weak-eyed bat
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn.
Collins. " Ode to Evening."
We three archers be, Rangers that move through the north countree, Lovers of ven'son and liberty,
That value not honour or money.
The rising morn has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.
Longfellow. " Endymion,"
That fawn-skin dappled hair of hers, And the blue eye, Dear and dewy, And that infantine fresh air of hers I
A'. Brozvning. " A Pretty Woman."