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A Jacobite's Exile

Rating: 2.7

The weary day runs down and dies,
The weary night wears through:
And never an hour is fair wi' flower,
And never a flower wi' dew.

I would the day were night for me,
I would the night were day:
For then would I stand in my ain fair land,
As now in dreams I may.

O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,
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7/24/2021 12:42:27 AM # 1.0.0.663