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[225] Be thine henceforth a pride of place
     Beyond thy namesake's over-sea,
Where scarce a stone is left to trace
     The Holy House of Amesbury.

A prouder memory lingers round
     The birthplace of thy true man here
Than that which haunts the refuge found
     By Arthur's mythic Guinevere.

The plain deal table where he sat
     And signed a nation's title-deed
Is dearer now to fame than that
     Which bore the scroll of Runnymedee

Long as, on Freedom's natal morn,
     Shall ring the Independence bells,
Give to thy dwellers yet unborn
     The lesson which his image tells.

For in that hour of Destiny,
     Which tried the men of bravest stock,
He knew the end alone must be
     A free land or a traitor's block.

Among those picked and chosen men
     Than his, who here first drew his breath,
No firmer fingers held the pen
     Which wrote for liberty or death.

Not for their hearths and homes alone,
     But for the world their work was done;
On all the winds their thought has flown
     Through all the circuit of the sun.

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