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"THE PATHS OF GLORY LEAD BUT TO THE GRAVE."- Page 61.

THOMAS GRAY.

61

How jocund did they drive their team | Some mute, inglorious Milton here may

afield!

rest;

How bowed the woods beneath their Some Cromwell, guiltless of his counsturdy stroke! try's blood.

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E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature | Fair Science frowned not on his humble cries,

birth,

E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. And Melancholy marked him for her own.

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