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Full sixty years the bard had seen,
Yet still his manly form and mien,
His garb of ancient Caledon,
Where lines of silk and scarlet shone,
And golden garters 'neath his knee,
Announced no man of mean degree.
Upon his harp, of wondrous frame,
Was carved his lineage and his name;

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There stood the cross that name above,
Fair emblem of Almighty love:
Beneath rose an embossment proud,—
A Rose beneath a Thistle bowed.