The White Stag
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I ha' seen them 'mid the clouds on the heather.
Lo! they pause not for love nor for sorrow,
Yet their eyes are as the eyes of a maid to her lover,
When the white hart breaks his cover
And the white wind breaks the morn.
‘'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting,
Bid the world's hounds come to horn!’
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