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Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling;
And gathers his gun closer up to his breast, As if to keep down the heart's swelling. |
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"And his life-blood is ebbing and splashing." |
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He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree, And his footstep is lagging and weary ;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.
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