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The Clyde FROM one vast mountain bursting on the day, Tweed, Clyde, and Annan urge their separate way. To Anglia’s shores bright Tweed and Annan run, That seeks the rising, this the setting sun; Where raged the Border war, and either flood Now blushed with Scottish, now with English blood; Both lands by turns their heroes lost deplore; But blest Britannia knows these woes no more. Clyde far from scenes of strife and horror fled, And through more peaceful fields his waters led. John Wilson's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1272 |
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