Swift without violence, without terror great.
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
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The glaring bale-fires blaze no more;
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along thy wild and willow'd shore.
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RGB: 42 103 40
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RGB: 42 103 40
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RGB: 255 255 255
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RGB: 255 255 15
Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bowers
To Arno's myrtle border.