How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is... The Annual Register of World Events: A Review of the Year - Side 223 redigert av - 1800 Uten tilgangsbegrensning -
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