Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 6
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping|
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,
For hers was the story that blotted the leaves.
But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright,
When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame,
She saw History write,
With a pencil of light
That illumed the whole volume, her Wellington's name.
2. "Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
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