O thou who from the mountain's heightRoll'st down thy clouds with all their weightOf waters to old Niles majestic tide;Or o'er the dark sepulchral plainRecallest thy Palmyra's ancient pride,Amid whose desolated domesSecure the savage chacal roams,Where from the fragments of the hallow'd faneThe Arabs rear their miserable homes!Hear Genius hear thy children's cry!Not always should'st thou love to
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