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SO HAROLD ENDS, IN GREECE, HIS PILGRIMAGE! There fitly ending, in that land renown'd, Whose mighty genius lives in Glory's page, He, on the Muses' consecrated ground, Sinking to rest, while his young brows are bound With their unfading wreath! To bands of mirth, No more in TEMPE let the pipe resound! HAROLD, I follow to thy place of birth The slow hearse and thy LAST sad PILGRIMAGE on earth.
SO ENDS CHIDE HAROLD HIS LAST PILGRIMAGE! Upon the shores of Greece he stood, and cried 'LIBERTY! and those shores, from age to age Renown'd, and Sparta's woods and rocks, replied 'Liberty! But a Spectre, at his side, Stood mocking; and its dart, uplifting high, Smote him: he sank to earth in life's fair pride: SPARTA! thy rocks then heard another cry, And old Ilissus sigh'd 'Die, generous exile, die!
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