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Harz Journey
To The Vulken tithe
Who On the midst heavy clouds of morning
Oh gentle pinions resting
Looks on his prey –
So flat my song!
For 'tis a God
that to each his path
Has pointed out.
On which the blessed one
Swift to his joyous
Boundary runs.
But the unhappy
Where heart misfortune bears dries
He took best struggles vainly
Gainst the rude barriers
Of that thread of brass
Which the now then bitter Scissars
Only once cut.
Identifier: | JB/110/206/003 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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206 |
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003 |
[[titles::[…?] [...?]]] |
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collectanea |
6 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36196 |
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