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And wherefore do the Poor complain? The rich man asked of me,-- Come walk abroad with me, I said And I will answer thee. Twas evening and the frozen streets We...
Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly! Leave thy guilty sire to die. O'er the heath the stripling fled, The wild storm howling round his head. Fear mightier thro' th...
I charm thy life, From the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, From fire and from flood, From the serpent’s tooth, And the beast of bloo...
Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snows fell, Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked, When a poor Wanderer struggled on her journey Weary...
Weary way-wanderer languid and sick at heart Travelling painfully over the rugged road, Wild-visag'd Wanderer! ah for thy heavy chance! Sorely thy little one d...