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XIX.

At last, with philosophic step,
Swift-streaming eye, and arms entwined close,
The sacred shade of his own Hamlet came:
Long time he paus'd—long time around he look'd,
Then fix'd his view upon the grave, and spoke:
“'Tis not now, seems; in verity, it is;
“Oh, what a grace was seated on that brow!
“An eye, like Mars, to threaten or command;
“A combination and a form indeed,
“Where every God did seem to set his seal,
“To give the world assurance of a Man!
“And is it come to this?—but hush, my heart!
“He was a Man, take him for all in all,
“We may not look upon his like again.”