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Avis

Rating: 2.8

I MAY not rightly call thy name,—­
Alas! thy forehead never knew
The kiss that happier children claim,
Nor glistened with baptismal dew.

Daughter of want and wrong and woe,
I saw thee with thy sister-band,
Snatched from the whirlpool’s narrowing flow
By Mercy’s strong yet trembling hand.

“Avis!”—­With Saxon eye and cheek,
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