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"Oh! not that each long night my weary eyes Sink into sleep, unlull'd by Pity's sighs; Not that in bitter tears my bread is steep'd Tears drawn by insults on my sorrows heap'd; Not that my thoughts recall a mother's grave Recall the sire I would have died to save, Who fell before me, bleeding on the field, Whilst I in vain opposed the useless shield. Ah! not for these I grieve!
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