The whispering waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play, And on the bosom of the deep The smile of Heaven lay;

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Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal. Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood by all, but which the wise, and great, and good interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

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And whether life had been before that sleep The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell...

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History is a cyclic poem written by Time upon the memories of man.

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Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, -- but it returneth.

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