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fit^t* 



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Calm in its beauty lay the western sea; 



And every rippling wave which leapt around 



Those craggy isles took up the choral sound 

 Which tells, great pictured Continent, of thee. 

 O blest Atlantis, can the legend be 



Built on wild fancies which thy name surround ? 



Or doth the story of thy classic ground 

 With the stern facts of Nature's face agree ? 



What if no tongue may tell ! — thy halo fair 



Still lingers round the isles which slumber there ; 



And as those towering peaks, sun-gilded, rise 



Into the bosom of primeval skies, 



Bathed in God's glance, and ocean-girt, they stand, 

 Like trophies left by time to mark that shadowy land. 



Lyra Devoniensis, p. 135. 



