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99

[Of aspect ruthless as the frown of Fate]

Of aspect ruthless as the frown of Fate,
Form'd to be hated, as himself could hate;
Of soul too impious to be curs'd in song,
Dark as that eye of Death he fed so long;
Of passions fir'd by every fiend that fell,
The sword of Slaughter in the hand of Hell;
He kiss'd the steel a country's blood had stain'd,
And died that Dæmon that he liv'd and reign'd.