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“THE BETTER LAND.”

Protè, thou art not dead—but in a happier land!
In the Islands of the Blest thou hast joined the tearless band:
Celestial are their banquets, and flowers for ever blow
On the bright plains Elysian—unvisited by woe.
No winter mars thy year, no sultry noon thy day,
And thou shalt murmur “I am sick”—oh, never more for aye!
Thou hungerest not, thou thirstest not—with calm and guiltless breast,
In Olympus's pure splendour thou shalt for ever rest!note

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