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ON LEAVING N—ST—D. Through the cracks in these battlements loud the winds whistle, For the hall of my fathers is gone to decay; And in yon once gay garden the hemlock and thistle Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way. Of the barons of old, who once proudly to battle Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain; The escutcheon and shield, which with ev'ry blast rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now... more...