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OTHER VERSE 139
What uses had he for all these— This ring-locked, rusty bunch of keys ? Ah! this one closed his vault of wine; And this one opened up the mine From whence he took the store of thought That here are in his writings wrought. But this! Why, here, he held his life! This was his latch-key, and his wife Has thanked dear God to hear it turn. Its place is 'mong the ashes in his urn.
The Visigoth and Vandal hordes that rushed
Across, in trampling force, and savage mood, The breadth of ancient Europe's continent,
Trod lighter than the wild and ruthless brood, That in fierce raid bore down from bleaker lands,
To sweep the mild Algonquin from the fields Of fertile Illinois, that grateful teemed
In rich abundance, and whose lavish yields
Were noised afar. 'Twas thus the spoiler came To lay, in blood, the savage victor's claim.