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[0] => Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire / %May rise distinguish'd o'er the din of war; / Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre, / %Who sung beleaguer'd Ilion's evil star? / Such, Wellington, might reach thee from afar, / %Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range; / Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, / %All as it swell'd 'twixt each loud trumpet-change, / That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge!
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