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Of mighty nature has engulfèd been, Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns
In lonely majesty.
BETWEEN the foaming jaws of the white torrent
Constantine Paleologus, Scene I. The skilful artist draws a sudden
mound;
THOSE Were wild times-the antipodes What fancies can be ours ere we have
END OF POETRY AND VERSE FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS.