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 | American poems, selected and original |  |
218
“Fast, with thongs, his hands are bound.
“See, the tyrants, how they scourge him!
“See his sides a reeking wound!
| American poems, selected and original | |
“Fast, with thongs, his hands are bound.
“See, the tyrants, how they scourge him!
“See his sides a reeking wound!