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What Thing, In Honor, Had My Father Lost, That Need To Be Revived And Breathed In Me?

The Love Of Wicked Men Converts To Fear; That Fear To Hate, And Hate Turns One Or Both To Worthy Danger And Deserved Death.

And Mind, With My Heart In't; And Now Farewell Till Half An Hour Hence.

To This Urn Let Those Repair That Are Either True Or Fair; For These Dead Birds Sigh A Prayer.

The Hind That Would Be Mated By The Lion Must Die For Love.