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" ... reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.... "
The Worcester Magazine and Historical Journal - Page 128
1826
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Songs of Ourselves

Cambridge International Examinations - 2005 - 265 pages
...murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet,...
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