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The Solitary, and other poems

With The Cavalier, a play. By Charles Whitehead
  
  

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The leech is come, but strives in vain
To soothe the fever of the brain.
Jasper dies raving:—close the scene—
'Tis fearful to behold, I ween,
But now he lies, as calm, as mild,
As silent as a sleeping child.