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When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn |
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And when ought is to befall |
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That ancient line in the pale of moonshine |
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He walks from all to hall |
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His form you may trace, but not his face |
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'tis shadowed by his cowl |
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But his eyes may be seen from the folds between |
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And they seem of a parted soul |
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Say nought to thim as he walks the hall |
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And he'll say nought to you |
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He sweeps along in his dusky pall |
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As o'er the grass the dew |
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Then gramercy for the black friar |
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Heaven sain him, fair no foul |
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And whatsoe'er may be his prayer |
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Let ours be for his soul |
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When an heir is born, he is heard to mourn |
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And when ouhgt is to befall |
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That ancient line in the pale of moonshine |