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Even there a mist that in its energy
Could blast scathe crush the vile deserter from the post
Of everlasting truth & liberty:-
Were there a thunderbolt to scathe the host
Of desperate renegades who from freedom's ranks
Have joined the tyrant's – could I fling
A plague of poison o'er their blasphemous blank
Where once erst the freedom was – now King
And any blasphemy attached – my
Would glow with living fire – my Soul would burn
In mortal indignation – I would say –
Go to! unlike – so swearst!
Ye traitors to the very name of men –
Go – blasted on your melancholy way
Identifier: | JB/110/223/001 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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223 |
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001 |
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collectanea |
1 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36213 |
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