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Of lunar race,

Whom life hath wearied in its race of hours Who, fix'd by love, at length was all her own,
Repose for ever in unfading bowers !

And pass'd his spirit through her lips alone!
That very orb, whose solitary light
So often guides thee to my arms at night,

Oh Samian sage! whate'er thy glowing thought Is no chill planet, but an isle of love,

Of mystic Numbers hath divinely wrought ; Floating, in splendour, through those seas above !

The One that 's form'd of Two whọ dearly love, Thither, I thought, we wing'd our airy way,

Is the best number heaven can boast abuve ! Mild o'er its valleys stream'd a silvery day,

But think, my Theon, how this soul was thrillid, While, all around, on lily beds of rest,

When near a fount, which o'er the vale distillid, Reclin'd the spirits of the immortal Blest!'

My fancy's eye beheld a form recline, Oh ! there I met those few congenial maids,

but so resembling thine, Whom love hath warm'd, in philosophic shades;

That, oh!-'twas but fidelity in me, There still Leontium on her sage's breast,

To fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee! Found lore and love, was tutor'd and caress'd;

No aid of words the unbodied soul requires, And there the twine of Pythias' gentle arms

To waft a wish, or embassy desires ; Repaid the zeal which deitied her charms !

But, by a throb to spirits only given, The Attic Master,t in Aspasia's eyes

By a mute impulse, only felt in heaven, Forgot the toil of less endearing ties ;

Swifter than meteor shaft through summer skies, While fair Theano, innocently fair,

From soul to soul the glanc'd idea flies ! Play'd with the ringlets of her Samian's hair.

We met—like thee the youthful vision smil'd;

But not like thee, when passionately wild, already quoted) adduces the obstinacy of the fathers in this Thou wak'st the slumbering blushes of my cheek, whimsical opinion, as a proof of their repugnance to even truth from the hands of the philosophers. This is a strange By looking things thyself would blush to speak ! way of defending the fathers, and attributes much more than No! 'twas the tender, intellectual smile, they deserve to ihe philosophers. For an abstract of this Flush'd with the past and yet serene the while, work of Baltus, (the opposer of Fontenelle, Van Dale, etc. in the famous oracle controversy) see “ Bibliotheque des Of that delicious hour when, glowing yet, Auteurs Ecclesiast. du 18. siecle,'' 1 Part. Tom. ii. Thou yield'st to nature with a fond regret,

1 There were various opinions among the ancients with And thy soul, waking from its wilder'd dream, respect to their lunar establishment; some make it an elysium, and others a purgatory; while some suppose it to be a Lights in thine eye a mellower, chaster beam! kind of entrepot between heaven and earth, where souls which had left their bodies, and those which were on their Oh my beloved ! how divinely sweet way to join them, were deposited in the valleys of Hecate, Is the pure joy, when kindred spirits meet ! and remained till further orders. Tous Tipi SamVTV *sp hogany RUT25 **T00x800, **• at' qutus **** %nosov sos Th' Elean god,' whose faithful waters flow, T48 napigirov gvorov. Stob. lib. 1. Eclog. Physic. With love their only light, through caves below,

2 The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called her his "dear little Leontium” (A sovruptov) as appears by a trag. Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids, ment of one of his letters in Laertius. This Leontium was And festal rings, with which Olympic maids a woman of talent; “ she had the impudence (says Cicero) Have deck'd their billow, as an offering meet to write against Theophrastus;" and, at the same time Cicero gives her a name which is neither polite nor trans

To pour at Arethusa's crystal feet! lateable, “ Meretricula etiam Leontium contra Theophras. Think, when he mingles with his fountain-bride daughter called Danae, who was just as rigid an Epicurean Each melts in each, till one pervading kiss tum scribere ausa est."-De Natur. Deor. She left a What perfect rapture thrills the blended tide! as her mother; something like Wieland's Danae in Agathon.

It would sound much better, I think, if the name were Confound their current in a sea of bliss ! Leontia, as it occurs the first time in Laertius; but M. Me- 'Twas thus nage will not hear of this reading.

3 Pythias was a woman whom Aristotle loved, and to whom after her death he paid divine honours, solemnizing

But, Theon, 'tis a weary theme, her memory by the same sacrifices which the Athenians And thou delight'st not in my lingering dream. offered to the goddess Ceres. For this impious gallantry the Oh! that our lips were, at this moment, near, philosopher was, of course, censured ; it would be well however if some of our modern Stagiritcs had a little of this And I would kiss thee into patience, dear! superstition about the memory of their mistresses.

And make thee smile at all the magic tales 4 Socrates; who used to console bimself in the society of Of star-light bowers and planetary vales, home with Xantippe. For an account of this extraordinary Which my fond soul, inspir'd by thee and love, creature, Aspasin, and her school of erudite luxury at In slumber's loom hath exquisitely wove. Athens, 'see L'Histoire de l'Académie, etc. Tom. xxxi. p. But no; no more--soon as to-morrow's ray 69. Ségur rai her fails on the subject of Aspasia. "Les Femmex." Tom i.


O'er soft Ilissus shall dissolve away, The author of the "Voyage du Monde de Descartes" has I'll fly, my 'Theon, to thy burning breast, also placed these philosophers in the moon, and has allotted And there in murmurs tell thee all the rest : Seigneuries to them, as well as to ihe astronomers : (2 part. p. 143.) but he ought not to have forgotten their wives and Then if too weak, too cold the vision seems, mistresses ; " cura not. psih in morte relinquunt." Thy lip shall teach me something more than dreams !

5 There are some sensible letters extant under the name of this fair Pythagorean. They are addressed to her female friends upon the education of children, the treatment of ser- among those ancients who were obliged to have recourse to vants, etc, One, in particular, to Nicostrata, whose hus- the "coma apposititia." L'Hist. des Perruques, Chap I. band had given her reasons for jealousy, contains such truly 1 The river Alpheus; which flowed by Pisa or Olympia, considerate and rational advice, that it ought to be trans- and into which it was customary to throw offerings of dirlated for the edification of all married ladies. See Gale's ferent kinds, during the celebration of the Olympic games. Opuscul. Myth. Phys. p. 741.

In the pretty romance of Clitophon and Leucippe, the river 6 Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and Doctor is supposed to carry these offerings as bridal ging to the Thiers (in his Histoire des Perruques) seems to take it for fountain Arethusa. Kuv670 Tav Apr 987RV KT» TOU AQ.10 granted it was all his own, as he has not mentioned him I vugeoSTOASOOTHY XV y TW OAUMIWV 10654, *. T. A. Lib

“When he illumes her magic urn,

And sheds his own enchantments in it,

Though but a minute's space it burn,
IMBOWER'd in the vernal shades,

"Tis heaven to breathe it but a minute ! And circled all by rosy fences,

“ Not all the purest power we boast, I saw the five luxurious maids,

Not silken touch, nor vernal dye,
Whom mortals love, and call THE SENSES. Nor music, when it thrills the most,

Nor balmy cup, nor perfume's sigh,
Many and blissful were the ways,

In which they seem'd to pass their hours- “Such transport to the soul can give,
One wander'd through the garden's maze,

Though felt till time itself shall wither,
Inhaling all the soul of flowers;

As in that one dear moment live,

When Love conducts our sister hither!"
Like those, who live upon the smell
Of roses, by the Ganges' stream,'

She ceas'd—the air respir'd of bliss
With perfume from the flowret's bell,

A languor slept in every eye ; She fed her life's ambrosial dream!

And now the scent of Cupid's kiss

Declar'd the melting power was nigh!
Another touch'd the silvery lute,
To chain a charmed sister's ear,

I saw them come—the nymph and boy,
Who hung beside her, still and mute,

In twisted wreaths of rapture bound; Gazing as if her eyes could hear !

I saw her light the urn of joy,

While all her sisters languish'd round ! The nymph who thrill'd the warbling wire,

A sigh from every bosom brokeWould often raise her ruby lip,

I felt the flames around me glide, As if it pouted with desire

Till with the glow I trembling woke, Some cooling, nectar'd draught to sip.

And found myself by Fanny's side! Nor yet was she, who heard the lute,

Unmindful of the minstrel maid, But press'd the sweetest, richest fruit

THE STEERSMAN'S SONG. To bathe her ripe lip as she play'd !

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 28th APRIL But, oh! the fairest of the group Was one, who in the sunshine lay,

When freshly blows the northern gale, And op'd the cincture's golden loop

And under coursers snug we fly; That hid her bosom's panting play!

When lighter breezes swell the sail,

And royals proudly sweep the sky; And still her gentle hand she stole

'Longside the wheel, unwearied still Along the snows, so smoothly orb'd,

I stand, and as my watchful eye And look' the while, as if her soul

Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, Were in that heavenly touch absorb'd !

I think of her I love, and cry,

Port, my boy! port.
Another nymph, who linger'd nigh,
And held a prism of various light,

When calms delay, or breezes blow
Now put the rainbow wonder by,

Right from the point we wish to steer; To look upon this lovelier sight.

When by the wind close-haul'd we go,

And strive in vain the port to near; And still as one's enamour'd touch

I think 'tis thus the Fates defer Adown the lapsing ivory fell,

My bliss with one that's far away, The other's eye, entranc'd as much,

And while remembrance springs to her, Hung giddy o'er its radiant swell!

I watch the sails and sighing say, Too wildly charm'd, I would have fled

Thus, my boy! thus But she, who in the sunshine lay,

But see! the wind draws kindly aft, Replac'd her golden loop, and said,

All hands are up the yards to square, “We pray thee for a moment stay.

And now the floating slu'n-sails waft “ If true my counting pulses beat,

Our stately ship through waves and air. It must be now almost the hour,

Oh! then I think that yet for me When Love, with visitation sweet,

Some breeze of Fortune thus may spring, Descends upon our bloomy bower.

Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee!

And in that hope I siniling sing, “And with him from the sky he brings

Steady, boy! so.
Our sister-nymph who dwells above-
Oh! never may she haunt these springs,

1 I left Bermuda in the Boston, about the middle of April, With any other god but Love!

in company with the Cambrian and Leander, abond 'the latter of which was the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who

divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the 1 Circa fontem Gangis Astomorum gentum ..... balitu very soul of society and good-fellowship to both.

We tantum viventum et odore quem naribus trahant. Plin. separated in a few days, and the Boston after a short cruise lib vii, cap 2

proceeded to New-York.


IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. I COULD resign that eye of blue,

Howe'er it burn, howe'er it thrill me; And, though your lip be rich with dew,

To lose it, CLOE, scarce would kill me. That snowy neck I ne'er should miss,

However warm I've twin'd about it! And though your bosom beat with bliss,

I think my soul could live without it. In short, I've learn'd so well to fast,

That, sooth my love, I know not whether I might not bring myself at last,

To-do without you altogether!

Oh dulcet air that vanish'd then!

Can Beauty's sigh recall thee ever! Can Love, himself, inhale again

A breath so precious ? never! never ! Go, maiden, weep—the tears of woe

By Beauty to repentance given, Though bitterly on earth they flow,

Shall turn to fragrant balm in heaven!

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TO THE FIRE-FLY.' This morning, when the earth and sky

Were burning with the blush of spring, I saw thee not, thou humble fly!

Nor thought upon thy gleaming wing. But now the skies have lost their hue,

And sunny lights no longer play, I see thee, and I bless thee too

For sparkling o'er the dreary way. Oh! let me hope that thus for me,

When life and love shall lose their bloom, Some milder joys may come, like thee,

To light, if not to warm, the gloom!

THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN. I BRING thee, Love, a golden Chain,

I bring thee too a flowery Wreath;
The gold shall never wear a stain,

The flow'rets long shall sweetly breathe
Come, tell me which the tie shall be
To bind thy gentle heart to me.
The Chain is of a splendid thread,

Stol'n from Minerva's yellow hair,
Just when the setting sun had shed

The sober beam of evening there.
The Wreath 's of brightest myrtle wove,

With brilliant tears of bliss among it,
And many a rose-leaf, cull’d by Love,

To heal his lip when bees have stung it!
Come, tell me which the tie shall be,
To bind thy gentle heart to me.
Yes, yes, I read that ready eye,

Which answers when the tongue is loath,
Thou lik'st the form of either tie,

And hold'st thy playful hands for both. Ah!-if there were not something wrong,

The world would see them blended oft; The Chain would make the Wreath so strong!

The Wreath would make the Chain so soft! Then might the gold, the flow'rets be Sweet fetters for my love and me! But, Fanny, so unblest they twine,

That (heaven alone can tell the reason) When mingled thus they cease to shine,

Or shine but for a transient season! Whether the Chain may press too much,

Or that the Wreath is slightly braided, Let but the gold the flow'rets touch,

And all their glow, their tints, are faded ! Sweet FANNY, what would Rapture do,

When all her blooms had lost their grace ? Might she not steal a rose or two,

From other wreaths, to fill their place ?--
Oh! better to be always free,
Than thus to bind my love to thee.

THERE was a vase of odour lay

For many an hour on Beauty's shrine,
So sweet that Love went every day

To banquet on its breath divine.
And not an eye had ever seen

The fragrant charm the vase conceal'd-
Oh Love! how happy 'twould have been,

If thou hadst ne'er that charm reveal'd!
But Love, like every other boy,

Would know the spell that lurks within ;
He wish'd to break the crystal toy,

But Beauty murmur'd“ 'twas a sin !"
He swore, with many a tender plea,

That neither heaven or earth forbad it;
She told him, Virtue kept the key,

And look'd as if she wish'd he had it !
He stole the key when Virtue slept,

(E'en she can sleep, if Love but ask it!)
And Beauty sigh'd, and Beauty wept,

While silly Love unlock'd the casket. 1 The lively and varying illuminations, with which these fire-flies light up tho woods at night, gives quite an idea of enchantment. Puis ces mouches se développant de l'obscurité de ces arbres et s'approchant de nous, nous les voyions sur les orangers voisins, qu'ils mettaient tout en feu, nous rendant la vue de leurs beaux fruits dorés que la nuit avait ravie," etc, etc. See l'Histoire des Antilles, Art. 2. Chap. 4. Liv. I.

The timid girl now hung her head,

And, as she turn'd an upward glance, I saw a doubt its twilight spread

Along her brow's divine expanse. Just then, the garland's dearest rose

Gave one of its seducing sighs— Oh! who can ask how FANNY chose,

That ever look'd in Fanny's eyes ! “ The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall de, The tie to bind my soul to thee!"

Well might the novice hope—the sanguine scheme TO

Of full perfection prompt his daring dream, And hast thou mark'd the pensive shade, Ere cold experience, with her veteran lore, That many a time obscures my brow,

Could tell him, fools had dream'd as much before ! Midst all the blisses, darling maid,

But tracing, as we do, through age and clime
Which thou canst give, and only thou? The plans of virtue 'midst the deeds of crime,
Oh! 'tis not that I then forget

The thinking follies, and the reasoning rage
The endearing charms that round me twine-

Of man, at once the idiot and the sage;
There never throbb'd a bosom yet

When still we see, through every varying frame,

Of arts and polity, his course the same,
Could feel their witchery, like mine!

And know that ancient fools but died to make
When bashful on my bosom hid,

A space on earth for modern fools to take;
And blushing to have felt so blest,

'Tis strange, how quickly we the past forget ; Thou dost but lift thy languid lid,

That wisdom's self should not be tutor'd yet,
Again to close it on my breast !

Nor tire of watching for the monstrous birth
Oh! these are minutes all thine own,

Of pure perfection 'midst the sons of earth!
Thine own to give, and mine to feel;

Oh! nothing but that soul which God has given, Yet e'en in them, my heart has known

Could lead us thus to look on earth for heaven;
The sigh to rise, the tear to steal.

O'er dross without to shed the flame within,
For I have thought of former hours,

And dream of virtue while we gaze on sin !
When he who first thy soul possess'd, Even here, beside the proud Potomac's stream,
Like me awak'd its witching powers,

Might sages still pursue the flattering theme
Like me was lov’d, like me was blest!

Of days to come, when man shall conquer fate,
Upon his name thy murmuring tongue

Rise o'er the level of this mortal state,
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt;

Belie the monuments of frailty past,
For him that snowy lid hath hung

And stamp perfection on this world at last !
In ecstasy, as purely felt!

“Here," might they say, “shall power's divided reig

Evince that patriots have not bled in vain.
For him-yet why the past recall

Here godlike liberty's herculean youth,
To wither blooms of present bliss !

Cradled in peace, and nurtur'd up by truth
Thou'rt now my own, I clasp thee all,

To full maturity of nerve and mind,
And Heaven can grant no more than this ! Shall crush the giants that bestride mankind !'
Forgive me, dearest, oh! forgive ;

Here shall religion's pure and balmy draught,

In form, no more from cups of state be quaff'd;
I would be first, be sole to thee;
Thou should'st but have begun to live,

But flow for all, through nation, rank, and sect,

Free as that heaven its tranquil waves reflect. The hour that gave thy heart to me.

Around the columns of the public shrine Thy book of life till then effac'd,

Shall growing arts their gradual wreath entwine, Love should have kept that leaf alone, Nor breathe corruption from their flowering braid, On which he first so dearly trac'd

Nor mine that fabric which they bloom to shade.
That thou wert, soul and all, my own! No longer here shall justice bound her view,

Or wrong the many, while she rights the few;
But take her range through all the social frame,

Pure and pervading as that vital flame,

Which warms at once our best and meanest part,

And thrills a hair while it expands a heart !"

Oh golden dream! what soul that loves to scan

The brightness rather than the shades of man,

That own the good, while smarting with the ill
JAI MH BATMAEHIE MHT' EI MAKPOTEPAN TE. And loves the world with all its frailty still-

ΓΡΑΦΑ ΤΗΝ ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗΝ, ΜΗΔ' ΕΙ ΤΙ ΠΕΡΙΕΡΓΟ- What ardent bosom does not spring to meet

Isocrat. Epist. 4.

The generous hope with all that heavenly heat,

Which makes the soul unwilling to resign If former times had never left a trace,

The thoughts of growing, even on earth, divine ! Of human frailty in their shadowy race,

Yes, dearest FORBES, I see thee glow to think
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they ran,

The chain of ages yet may boast a link
One dark memorial of the crimes of man;
If every age, in new unconscious prime,

1 Thus Morse:-"Here the sciences and the arts of ci

vilized life are to receive their highest improvements; bere Rose, like a phenix, from the fires of time,

civil and religious liberty are to flourish, unchecked by the To wing its way unguided and alone,

cruel hand of civil or ecclesiastical tyranny; here genius, aided The future stniling, and the past unknown—

by all the improvements of former ages, is to be exerted in Then ardent man would to himself be new,

humanizing mankind, in expanding and enriching thei.

minds with religious and philosophical knowledge,” etc Earth at his foot, and heaven within his view, etc. p. 569

Of purer texture than the world has known, To show the world, what high perfection springs And fit to bind us to a Godhead's throne !

From rabble senators, and merchant kings

Even here already patriots learn to steal But, is it thus ? doth even the glorious dream

Their private perquisites from public weal, Borrow from truth that dim uncertain gleam,

And, guardians of the country's sacred fire, Which bids us give such dear delusion scope,

Like Afric's priests, they let the flame for hire ! As kills not reason, while it nurses hope?

Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose No, no, believe me, 'tis not so-e'en now,

From England's debtors to be England's foes,' While yet upon Columbia's rising brow

Who could their monarch in their purse forget, The showy smile of young presumption plays,

And break allegiance, but to cancel debt, Her bloom is poison'd and her heart decays !

Have prov'd, at length, the mineral's tempting hue, Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath Burns with the taint of empires near their death,

Which makes a patriot, can unmake him too."

Oh! freedom, freedom, how I hate thy cant ! And, like the nymphs of her own withering clime, Not eastern bombast, nor the savage rant She's old in youth, she's blasted in her prime!!

Of purpled madmen, were they number'd all Already has the child of Gallia's school,

From Roman Nero down to Russian Paul, The foul Philosophy that sins by rule,

Could grate upon my ear so mean, so base, With all her train of reasoning, damning arts

As the rank jargon of that factious race, Beyot by brilliant heads or worthless hearts,

Who, poor of heart, and prodigal of words, Like things that quicken after Nilus' flood,

Born to be slaves and struggling to be lords, The venom'd birth of sunshine and of mud!

But pant for licence while they spurn control, Already has she pour'd her poison here

And shout for rights with rapine in their soul! O'er every charm that makes existence dear

Who can, with patience, for a moment see Already blighted, with her black'ning trace,

The medley mass of pride and misery, The opening bloom of every social grace,

Of whips and charters, manacles and rights, And all those courtesies, that love to shoot

Of slaving blacks and democratic whites,* Round Virtue's stem, the flow'rets of her fruit !

And all the pye-bald polity that reigns

In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains ? Oh! were these errors but the wanton tide

To think that man, thou just and gentle God! Of young luxuriance or unchasten'd pride;

Should stand before thee, with a tyrant's rod The fervid follies and the faults of such

O'er creatures like himself, with soul from thee, As wrongly feel, because they feel too much ; Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty : Then might experience make the fever less,

Away, away-I'd rather hold my neck Nay, graft a virtue on each warm excess :

By doubtful tenure from a sultan's beck,
But no; 'tis heartless, speculative ill-

In climes, where liberty has scarce been nam'd,
All youth's transgression with all age's chill- Nor any right but that of ruling claim'd,
The apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice,

Than thus to live, where bastard freedom waves A slow and cold stagnation into vice!

Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves ; Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage,

Where (motley laws admitting no degree And latest folly of man's sinking age,

Betwixt the vilely slav'd and madly free) Which, rarely venturing in the van of life, While nobler passions wage their heated strife, 1 I trust I shall not be suspected of a wish to justify those Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear,

arbitrary steps of the English government which the Colo

nies found it co necessary to resist; my only object here is And dies, collecting lumber in the rear !

to expose the selfish motives of some of the leading AmeriLong has it palsied every grasping hand

can demagogues. And greedy spirit through this bartering land;

2 The most persevering enemy to the interests of this Turn'd life to traffic, set the demon gold

country, among the politicians of the western world, has

been a Virginian merchant, who, finding it casier to settle So loose abroad, that Virtue's self is sold,

his conscience than his debts, was one of the first to raise And conscience, truth, and honesty, are made the standard against Great Britain, and has ever since enTo rise and fall, like other wares of trade !a

deavoured to revenge upon the whole country the obliga

tions wbich he lies under to a few of its merchants. Already in this free, this virtuous state,

3 See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania Insurrec

tion in 1794. In short, see Porcupine's Works throughout Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain'd by fate,

for ample corroboration of every sentiment which I have

ventured to express. In saying this, I refer less to the com1 “What will be the old age of this government, if it is ments of that writer, than to the occurrences which he has Chus early decrepit!" Such was the remark of Fauchet, related, and the documents which he has preserved. Opithe French minister at Philadelphia, in that famous despatch nion may be suspected of bies, but facis speak for toem

selves. to his government which was intercepted by one of our cruisers in the year 1794. This curious memorial may be 4 In Virginia the effects of this system begin to be felt found in Porcupine's Works, vol. i. p. 279. It remains a rather seriously. While the master raves of liberty, the striking monument of republican intrigue on one side, and slave cannot but catch the contagion, and accordingly there republican profligacy on the other; and I would recommend seldom elapses a month without some alarm of insurrection the perusal of it to every honest politician, who may labour amongst the negroes. The accession of Louisiana, it is under a momont's delusion with respect to the purity of feared, will increase this embarrassment; as the numerous American patriotism.

emigrations which are expected to take place from the 2 "Nous voyons que dans les pays où l'on n'est affecte southern states to this newly acquired territory, will conque de l'esprit de commerce, on trafique de toutes les actions siderably diminish the white population, and thus strengthen humaines et de toutes les verius morales" Montesquieu, de the proportion of negroes to a degree which must ultimately "Esprit des Lois, Liv. 20. Chap. 2.

be ruinous.

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