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CANTO THE FIRST. I. Ye shores of England, as ye fast recedeThe pain of parting rends my weary breast.I must regret—yet there is little needThat I should mourn, for only wild unrestIs mine while in my native land I roam.Thou gav'st me birth, but cannot give a home. II. Yet happy were the days that have been mine,So happy that those days must needs be few.It could not be that that bright sun would shineFor many months, and while its light... more...