Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain horse, sweet Liberty.
Oft on a plate of rising ground,
I hear the far-off curfew sound,
One bar down to the ground
No prices this time
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar.
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