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[0] => Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung / %On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring, / And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, / %Till envious ivy did around thee cling, / Muffling with verdant ringlet every string— / %O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? / Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, / %Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, / Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?
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