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Chapter 52 No.52

Here, in this grotto of the wave-worn shore,

They passed the Tropic's red meridian o'er;

Nor long the hours-they never paused o'er time,

Unbroken by the clock's funereal chime,[391]

Which deals the daily pittance of our span,350

And points and mocks with iron laugh at man.[fn]

What deemed they of the future or the past?

The pre

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