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THE RIVER DUDDON

A SERIES OF SONNETS, 1820.

XXVII

          FALLEN, and diffused into a shapeless heap,
          Or quietly self-buried in earth's mould,
          Is that embattled House, whose massy Keep,
          Flung from yon cliff a shadow large and cold.
          There dwelt the gay, the bountiful, the bold;
          Till nightly lamentations, like the sweep
          Of winds--though winds were silent--struck a deep
          And lasting terror through that ancient Hold.
          Its line of Warriors fled;--they shrunk when tried
          By ghostly power:--but Time's unsparing hand                10
          Hath plucked such foes, like weeds, from out the land;
          And now, if men with men in peace abide,
          All other strength the weakest may withstand,
          All worse assaults may safely be defied.


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