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Unto like Story-Trouble has enticed me-
How Kinsmen fell-
Brothers and Sister-who preferred the Glory-
And their young will
Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons-chanted-
Till God's full time-
When they let go the ignominy-smiling-
And Shame went still-

Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me,
Worn fair
By Heads rejected-in the lower country-
Of honors there-
Such spirit makes her perpetual mention,
That I-grown bold-
Step martial-at my Crucifixion-
As Trumpets-rolled-

Feet, small as mine-have marched in Revolution
Firm to the Drum-
Hands-not so stout-hoisted them-in witness-
When Speech went numb-
Let me not shame their sublime deportments-
Drilled bright-
Beckoning-Etruscan invitation-
Toward Light-