« Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away, Her ankles rung with shells, as unconfined, Thine eyes yet view the living light of day; She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind. Sad in the stranger's land, thou mayst sustain With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye,A weary life of servitude and pain,

So beautiful in youth, she bounded by. With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam,

Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,

And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, The tame alpaca* stood and lick'd her hand; Never to hear the summer cocoa wave,

She brought him gather'd moss, and loved to deck Or weep upon thy father's distant grave." With flowery twine his tall and stately neck;

Ye, who have waked, and listen'd with a tear, Whilst he with silent gratitude replies, When cries confused, and clangours rollid more And bends to her caress his large blue eyes. near;

These children danced together in the shade, With murmur'd prayer, when mercy stood aghast, Or stretch'd their hands to see the rainbow fade; As war's black trump peal'd its terrific blast, Or sat and mock'd, with imitative glee, And o'er the wither'd earth the armed giant pass'd! The paroquet, that laugh'd from tree to tree; Ye, who his track with terror have pursued, Or through the forest's wildest solitude, When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued, From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, And thought the light of parting day too short, That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide,

That call'd them, lingering, from their daily sport. Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong In that fair season of awakening life, The last deep echoes of his parting gong;

When dawning youth and childhood are at strife ; Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot

When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot, Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands ; save livid corpses that unburied lie,

With airy look, and form and footsteps light, And conflagrations, reeking to the sky ;

And glossy locks, and features berry-bright, Come listen, whilst the causes I relate

And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray That bow'd the warrior to the storms of fate, Of noon, unblenching, as he sails away ; And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate. A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung,

In other days, when in his manly pride, A small stone hatchet o'er his shoulders slung, Two children for a father's fondness vied,- With slender lance, and feathers, blue and red, Oft they essay'd, in mimic strife, to wield

That, like the heron'st crest, waved on his head,His lance, or laughing peep'd behind his shield. Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy, Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade,

Lautaro was the loveliest Indian boy : Lightsome of heart as gay of look, they play'd, Taught by his sire, e'en now he drew the bow Brother and sister: she, along the dew,

Or track'd the jaguar on the morning snow; Blithe as the squirrel of the forest, flew;

Startled the condor, on the craggy height; Blue rushes wreath'd her head; her dark brown Then silent sat, and mark'd its upward flight, hair

Lessening in ether to a speck of white. Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare ;

But when th' impassion'd chieftain spoke of war Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made, Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade : Spoke of the strangers of the distant main, Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced And the proud banners of insulting Spain,The azure-dyed ichella* round her waist;

Of the barb'd horse and iron horseman spoke,

And his red gods, that wrapt in rolling smoke, they will not only not hurt them, but suffer them not 10 Roard from the guns,--the boy, with still-drawn escape unrevenged who do them any wrong. It is of the breath, bigness of a pigeon, and of an ash-colour. The Tououpi- Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death; nambaltii hear her more often in the night than in the Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, day, with a mournful voice; and believe that it is sent from their friends and kindred unto them, and also de- “O let me perish by my father's side !" clareth good luck; and especially, that it encourageth

Once, when the moon, o'er Chilian's cloudless and admonisheth them to behave themselves valiantly in height, the wars against their enemies. Besides, they verily Pour'd, far and wide, its soft and mildest light, think, that if they rightly observe these divinations, it A predatory band of mailed men shall come to pass that they should vanquish their enemies even in this life, and after death their souls should Burst on the stillness of the shelter'd glen, fly beyond the mountains to their ancestors, perpetually They shouted “ death," and shook their sabres high, to dance there.

That shone terrific to the moonlight sky: "I chanced once to lodge in a village, named Upec by Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill the Frenchmen: there, in the night, I heard these birds, Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still. not singing, but making a lamentable noise. I saw the The warrior, ere he sunk in slumber deep, barbarians most attentive, and being ignorant of the whole matter, reproved their folly. But when I smiled a little Had kissid his son, soft-breathing in his sleep, upon a Frenchman standing by me, a certain old man, where on a llama's skin he lay, and said, severely enough, restrained me with these words: ‘Hold Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head, your peace, lest you hinder us who attentively hearken to the happy tidings of our ancestors. For as often as we hear these birds, so often also are we cheered, and our * The alpaca is perhaps the most beautiful, gentle, and strength receiveth increase." "- Callender's Voyage. interesting of living animals: one was to be seen in Lon

* The ichella is a short cloak, of a greenish blue colour, don in 1812. of wool, fastened before with a silver buckle.-Molina. + Ardea cristala.



“ Aërial nymphs !* that in the moonlight stray, “What tidings ?” with impatient look, he cried. 0, gentle spirits ! here a while delay;

“ Tidings of war," the hurrying scout replied ;
Bless, as ye pass unseen, my sleeping boy, Then the sharp pipe * with sbriller summons blex,
Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy. And held the blood-red arrow high in view. +
If the Great Spirit will, in future days

O'er the fall’n foe his hatchet he shall raise,
And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause,

“Where speed the foes ?” Avenge his violated country's cause!"

Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone,

“ Along the southern main,

“ Have pass'd the vultures of accursed Spain." As, clanking through the pass, the band of blood Sprung, like hyenas, from the secret wood.

CHIEF. They rush—they seize their unresisting prey

“Ruin pursue them on the distant flood, Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away;

And be their deadly portion—blood for blood !” But not till, gash'd by many a sabre wound, The father sunk, expiring, on the ground. He waked, from the dark trance, to life and pain,

“When, round and red, the moon shall next arise, But never saw his darling child again.

The chiefs attend the midnight sacrifice Seven snows had fall’n, and seven green summers In Encol's wood, where the great wizard dwells, pass'd,

Who wakes the dead man with his thrilling spells; Since here he heard that son's loved accents last.

Thee, Ulmen of the mountains, they command Still his beloved daughter soothed his cares,

To lift the hatchet, for thy native land; While time began to strew with white his hairs

Whilst in dread circle, round the sere-wood smoke, Oft as his painted feathers he unbound,

The mighty gods of vengeance they invoke; Or gazed upon his hatchet on the ground,

And call the spirits of their father's slain, Musing with deep despair, nor strove to speak,

To nerve their lifted arm, and curse devoted Spain.” Light she approach'd, and climb’d to reach his so spoke the scout of war ;-and o'er the dew cheek,

Onward, along the craggy valley, flew. Held with both hands his forehead, then her head

Then the stern warrior sung his song of death, Drew smiling back, and kiss'd the tear he shed.

And blew his conch, that all the glens beneath But late, to grief and hopeless love a prey,

Echoed, and rushing from the hollow wood,
She left his side, and wander'd far away.

Soon at his side three hundred warriors stood.
Now in this still and shelter'd glen, that smiled
Beneath the crags of precipices wild,
Wrapt in a stern yet sorrowful repose,

“ Children, who for his country dares to die ?” The warrior had forgot his country's woes, - Three hundred brandish'd spears shone to the Forgot how many, impotent to save,

Shed their best blood upon a father's grave; “ We perish, or we leave our country free;
How many, torn from wife and children, pine Father, our blood for Chili and for thee !"
In the dark caverns of the hopeless mine,

Their long lank hair hung wild: with clashing Never to see again the blessed morn

sound, Slaves in the lovely land where they were born ; They smote their shields, and stamp'd upon the How many, at sad sunset, with a tear,

ground ! The distant roar of sullen cannons hear,

The eagle, from his unapproach'd retreat, Whilst evening seems, as dies the sound, to throw Scared at their cries, has left his craggy seat. A deadlier stillness on a nation's wo!

“ Enough!" the warrior cried, “retire toSo the dark warrior, day succeeding day,

night:Wore in distemper'd thought the noons away ; Let the same spirit fire us in the fight, And still, when weary evening came, he sigh'd, That the proud Spaniard, ʼmid his guards, may know “My son, my son !” or, with emotion, cried, How dire it is to have one race his foe, “When I descend to the cold grave alone, One poor, brave race, to their loved country true, Who shall be there to mourn for me?-Not one!”+ Which all his glittering hosts shall ne'er subdue !"

The crimson orb of day, now westering, flung The mountain chief essay'd his club to wield, His beams, and o'er the vast Pacific hung; And shook the dust indignant from the shield. When from afar a shrilling sound was heard, Then spoke:And, hurrying o'er the dews, a scout appear’d.

“ Thou! that with thy lingering light The starting warrior knew the piercing tones, Dost warm the world, till all is hush'd in night; The signal call of war, from human bones.

I look upon thy parting beams, O sun !
And say, 'E'en thus my course is almost run.'


* Every warrior of Chili, according to Molina, has his * Their pipes of war are made of the bones of their attendant “nymph" or fairy-the belief of which is nearly enemies, who have been sacrificed. similar to the popular and poetical idea of those beings in + The way in which the warriors are summoned is Europe.-Meulen is the benevolent spirit.

something like the “running the cross" in Scotland, which +I have taken this line from the conclusion of the cele is so beautifully described by Walter Scott. The scouts brated speech of the old North American warrior, Logan. on this occasion bear an arrow bound with red fillets. "Who is there to mourn for Logan? not one !"

#Ulmen is the same as casique, or chief.

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“When thou dost hide thy head, as in the grave, Perhaps, c'en now thy spirit sees me stand And sink to glorious rest beneath the wave, A homeless stranger in my native land; Dost thou, majestic in repose, retire,

Perhaps, e’en now, along the moonlight sea, Below the deep, to unknown worlds of fire ? It bends from the blue cloud, remembering me. Yet though thou sinkest, awful, in the main, “ Land of my fathers, yet- yet forgive, The shadowy moon comes forth, and all the train That with thy deadly enemies I live. Of stars, that shine with soft and silent light, The tenderest ties (it boots not to relate) Making so beautiful the brow of night.

Have bound me to their service, and their fate; Thus, when I sleep within the narrow bed, Yet, whether on Peru's war-wasted plain, The light of after-fame around shall spread; Or visiting these sacred shores again, The sons of distant ocean, when they see

Whate'er the struggles of this heart may be,
The grass-green heap beneath the mountain tree, Land of my fathers, it shall beat for thee !"
And hear the leafy boughs at evening wave,
Shall pause and say, “There sleep in dust the

“ All earthly hopes my lonely heart have fled !

Stern Guecubu,* avgel of the dead,

The second day. Who laughest when the brave in pangs expire, Night-Spirit of the Andes-Valdivia-Lautaro-MissionWhose dwelling is beneath the central fire

ary-The hermitage. Of yonder burning mountain ; who hast pass'd The night was still, and clear-when, o'er the O'er my poor dwelling, and with one fell blast

Scatter'd my summer leaves that cluster'd round, Andes ! thy melancholy spirit rose, -
And swept my fairest blossoms to the ground; A shadow stern and sad: He stood alone,
Angel of dire despair, O come not nigh,

Upon the topmost mountain's burning cone;
Nor wave thy red wings o'er me where I lie; And whilst his eyes shone dim, through surging
But thou, O mild and gentle spirit, stand,

smoke, Angel* of hope and peace, at my right hand, Thus to the spirits of the fire he spoke:(When blood-drops stagnate on my brow) and “ Ye, who tread the hidden deeps, guide

Where the silent earthquake sleeps ; My pathless voyage o'er the unknown tide,

Ye, who track the sulphurous tide, To scenes of endless joy--to that fair isle,

Or on hissing vapours ride, Where bowers of bliss and soft savannahs smile;

Spirits, come! Where my sorefathers oft the fight renew,

From worlds of subterraneous night; And Spain's black visionary steeds pursue ;

From fiery realms of lurid light; Where, ceased the struggles of all human pain,

From the ore's unfathom'd bed; I may behold thee-thee-my son, again."

From the lava's whirlpools red,

He spoke, and whilst at evening's glimmering

Spirits, come! close

On Chili's foes rush with vindictive sway, The distant mist, like the gray ocean, rose,

And sweep them from the light of living day! With patriot sorrows swelling at his breast,

Hark! heard ye not the ravenous brood? He sunk upon a jaguar's hide to rest.

They flap their wings; they scream for blood :'Twas night. Remote on Caracalla's bay,

On Peru's devoted shore Valdivia's army, hush'd in slumber, lay.

Their murderous beaks are red with gore:
Around the limits of the silent camp,

Hither, impatient for new prey,
Alone was heard the steed's patrolling tramp Th’insatiate vultures track their way!
From line to line, whilst the fix'd centinel

Rise, Chili, rise! scatter the bands
Proclaim'd the watch of midnight_All is well!” That swept remote and peaceful lands -
Valdivia dreamt of millions yet untold,

Let them perish! Vengeance criesVillrica's gems, and El Dorado's gold !

Let them perish! Death replies. What different feelings, by the scene impressid, Spirits, now your caves forsake Rose, in sad tumult, o'er Lautaro's breast!

Hark! ten thousand warriors wake On the broad ocean, where the moonlight slept, Spirits, their high cause defend !Thoughtful he turn'd his waking eyes, and wept, From your caves ascend! ascend !"And whilst the thronging forms of memory start, As thus the vast, terrific phantom spoke, Thus holds communion with his lonely heart:- The trembling mountain heaved with darker smoke; “ Land of my fathers, still I tread your shore, Flashes of red and angry light appeard, And mourn the shade of hours that are no more; And moans and momentary shrieks were heard; Whilst night-airs, like remember'd voices, sweep,

The cavern'd deeps shook through their vast proAnd murmur from the undulating deep.

found, Was it thy voice, my father ?-—thou art dead- And Chimborazo's height rollid back the sound. The green rush waves on thy forsaken bed.

With lifted arm, and towering stature high, Was it thy voice, my sister ?-gentle maid, And aspect frowning to the middle sky, Thou too, perhaps, in the dark cave art laid; (Its misty form dilated in the wind,)

The phantom stood,—till, less and less defined, * They have their evil and good spirits. Guecubu is the Into thin air it faded from the sight, evil spirit of the Chilians.

Lost in the ambient haze of slow-returning light.

Its feathery-seeming crown,-its giant spear, Though pass'd in tears the dayspring of his youth, Its limbs of huge proportion, disappear;

Valdivia loved his gratitude and truth: And the bare mountains, to the dawn, disclose He, in Valdivia, own'd a nobler friend; The same long line of solitary snows.

Kind to protect, and mighty to defend. The morning shines,-the military train, So, on he rode: upon his youthful mien In warlike muster on the tented plain,

A mild but sad intelligence was seen: Glitter, and cuirasses, and helms of steel,

Courage was on his open brow, yet care Throw back the sunbeams, as the horsemen Seem'd, like a wandering shade, to linger there; wheel:

And though his eye shone, as the eagle's, bright, Thus, with arms glancing to the eastern light, It beam'd with humid, melancholy light. Pass, in review, proud steeds and cohorts bright; When now Valdivia saw th' embattled line, For all the host, by break of morrow gray, Helmets, and swords, and shields, and matchlocks, Wind back their march to Penco's northern bay.

shine, Valdivia, fearful lest confederate foes,

Now the long phalanx still and steady stand, Ambush'd and dark, his progress might oppose, Fix'd every eye, and motionless each hand, Marshals, to-day, the whole collected force,- Then slowly clustering, into columns wheel, File and artillery, cuirassier and horse:

Each with the red-cross banners of Castile;-
Himself yet lingers ere he joins the train, While trumps, and drums, and cymbals, to his ear,
That move, in order'd march, along the plain, Made music such as soldiers love to hear,
While troops, and Indian slaves beneath his eye While horsemen check'd their steeds,-or, bending
The labours of the rising city* ply:

Wide glows the general toil—the mole extends, With levell’d lances, o'er the saddle-bow,
The watch-tower o'er the desert surge ascends ; Rode gallantly at tilt,--and thunders broke,
And battlements, and rising ramparts, shine Instant involving van and rear in smoke,
Above the ocean's blue and level line.

Till winds th' obscuring volume roll'd away,
The sun ascended to meridian height,

And the red file, stretch'd out in long array, And all the northern bastions shone in light; More radiant moved beneath the beams of day, With hoarse acclaim, the gong and trumpet rung,– While ensigns, arms, and crosses, glitter'd bright,The Moorish slaves aloft their cymbals swung, - “ Philip !"* he cried, “ seest thou the glorious When the proud victor, in triumphant state,

sight, Rode forth, in arms, through the portcullis gate. And dost thou deem the tribes of this poor land

With neck high arching, as he smote the ground, - Can men, and arms, and steeds, like these, withAnd restless pawing to the trumpets' sound,

stand ?" With mantling mane, o'er his broad shoulders “ Forgive !" the youth replied, and check'd a spread,

tear,-And nostrils blowing, and dilated red,

“ The land where my forefathers sleep is dear! The coal-black steed, in rich caparison

My native land! this spot of blessed earth, Far trailing to the ground, went proudly on: The scene where I, and all I love, had birth! Proudly he tramp'd as conscious of his charge, What gratitude, fidelity can give, And turn'd around his eyeballs, bright and large, Is yours, my lord! You shielded-bade me live, And shook the frothy boss, as in disdain ;

When, in the circuit of the world so wide And toss'd the flakes, indignant, of his mane ; I had but one, one only friend beside. And, with high swelling veins, exulting press'd I bowid-resign'd to fate; I kiss'd the hand, Proudly against the barb, his heaving breast. Red with the best blood of my father's land! +

The fate of empires glowing in his thought, But mighty as thou art, Valdivia, know, Thus arm'd, the tented field Valdivia sought. Though Cortez' desolating march laid low On the left side his poised shield he bore,

The shrines of rich, voluptuous Mexico, With quaint devices richly blazon'd o'er;

With carcasses, though proud Pizarro strew Above the plumes, upon his helmet's cone, The sun's imperial temple in Peru,Castile's imperial crest illustrious shone ;

Yet the rude dwellers of this land are brave, Blue in the wind th' escutcheon'd mantle flow'd, And the last spot they lose will be their grave !" O'er the chain'd mail, which tinkled as he rode. A moment's crimson cross'd Valdivia's cheekThe barred visor raised, you might discern Then o'er the plain he spurrd, nor deign’d to speak, Hist clime-changed countenance, though pale, yet Waving the youth, at distance, to retire: stern,

None saw the eye that shot terrific fire : And resolute as death, whilst in his eye

As their commander sternly rode along, Sat proud assurance, fame, and victory.

Troop after troop, halted the martial throng; Lautaro, now in manhood's rising pride, And all the pennon'd trumps a louder blast Rode, with a lance, attendant, at his side,

Blew, as the southern world's great victor pass'd. In Spanish mantle gracefully array'd :

Lautaro turn'd, scarce heeding, from the view, Upon his brow a tuft of feathers play'd:

And from the noise of trumps and drums withdrew; His glossy locks, with dark and mantling grace, And now, while troubled thoughts bis bosom swell, Shaded the noonday sunbeams on his face. Seeks the gray Missionary's humble cell.

* The city Baldivia.

He had served in the wars of Italy,

* Lautaro had been baptized by that name.
+ Valdivia had before been in Chili.


Fronting the ocean, but beyond the ken

“ Whence comes my son ?” with kind complaOf public view, and sounds of murmuring men,

cent look Of unhewn roots composed, and gnarled wood, He ask'd, and closed again th' embossed book. A small and rustic oratory stood:

“ I come to thee for peace !” the youth replied: Upon its roof of reeds appear'd a cross,

“0, there is strife, and cruelty, and pride, The porch within was lined with mantling moss; In this sad Christian world; my native land A crucifix and hourglass, on each side-

Was happy, ere the soldier, with his band One to admonish seem'd and one to guide;

Of fell destroyers, like a vulture, came, This, to impress how soon life's race is o'er; And gave the peaceful scenes to blood and flame. And that, to lift our hopes where time shall be no When will the turmoil of earth's tempests cease?

Father, I come to thee for peace—for peace !" O'er the rude porch, with wild and gadding “Seek peace," the father cried, “ with God above: stray,

In his good time, all will be peace and love. The clustering copu weaved its trellis gay:

“We mourn, indeed, that grief, and toil, and strife, Two mossy pines, high bending, interwove Send one deep murmur from the walks of life, Their aged and fantastic arms above.

That yonder sun, when evening paints the sky, In front, amid the gay surrounding flowers, Sinks, beauteous, on a world of misery; A dial counted the departing hours,

The course of wide destruction to withstand, On which the sweetest light of summer shone, - We lift our feeble voice our trembling hand; A rude and brief inscription mark'd the stone:-- But still, bow'd low, or smitten to the dust,

“ To count, with passing shade, the hours, Father of mercy! still in thee we trust! I placed the dial ’mid the flowers;

Through good or ill, in poverty or wealth, That, one by one, came forth, and died, In joy or wo, in sickness or in health, Blooming, and withering, round its side. Meek piety thy awful hand surveys, Mortal, let the sight impart

And the faint murmur turns to prayer and praise ! Its pensive moral to thy heart !"

We know--whatever evils we deplore-Just heard to trickle through a covert near, Thou hast permitted, and we know no more! And soothing, with perpetual lapse, the ear, Behold, illustrious on the subject plain, A fount, like rain-drops, filter'd through the Some tower'd city of imperial Spain ! * stone,

Hark! 'twas the earthquake! clouds of dust alone And, bright as amber, on the shallows shone. Ascend from earth, where tower and temple shone. Intent his fairy pastime to pursue,

“ Such is the conqueror's dread path: the grave And, gem-like, hovering o’er the violets blue, Yawns for its millions where his banners wave; The humming-bird, here, its unceasing song But shall vain man, whose life is but a sigh, Heedlessly murmur'd, all the summer long, With sullen acquiescence, gaze and die? And when the winter came, retired to rest, Alas, how little of the mighty maze And from the myrtles hung its trembling nest. Of providence, our mortal ken surveys ! No sounds of a conflicting world were near; Heaven's awful Lord, pavilion'd in the clouds, The noise of ocean faintly met the ear,

Looks through the darkness that all nature shrouds; That seem'd, as sunk to rest the noontide blast, And, far beyond the tempest and the night, But dying sounds of passions that were past;

Bids man his course hold on to scenes of endless Or closing anthems, when, far off, expire

light.” The lessening echoes of the distant choir. Here, every human sorrow husb’d to rest,

His pale hands meekly cross'd upon his breast,

Anselmo sat: the sun, with westering ray,
Just touch'd his temples and his locks of gray.

Evening and night of the same day.
There was no worldly feeling in his eye ;-

Anselmo's story-Converted Indians-Confession of the The world to him “ was as a thing gone by.”

wandering minstrel-Night scene. Now, all his features lit, he raised his look,

ANSELMO'S TALE. Then bent it thoughtful, and unclasp'd the book; “ COME,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,-And whilst the hourglass shed its silent sand, And whilst our time may brook a brief delay A tame opossum* lick'd his wither'd hand. With other thoughts,-and, haply, with a tear, That sweetest light of slow declining day,

An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear. Which through the trellis pour'd its slanting ray, I wish'd not to reveal it-thoughts that dwell Resting a moment on his few gray hairs,

Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell Seem'd light from heaven sent down to bless his Unnoticed, and unknown—too painful wake, prayers.

And like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, When the trump echoed to the quiet spot, When starting, from our slumberous apathy, He thought upon the world, but mourn'd it not; We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by. Enough if his mcek wisdom could control,

Yet, if a moment's irritating flush And bend to mercy, one proud soldier's soul; Darkenst thy cheek, as thoughts conflicting rush, Enough, if while these distant scenes he trod, He led one erring Indian to his God.

* No part of the world is so subject to earthquakes as Peru.

+ Indians of Chili are of the lightest class, called by • A small and beautiful species, which is domesticated some " white Indians." 63

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