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��A Spartan spirit, nobly proud, Beam'd from her pallid face,
Her glorious boy to death had bow'd, But not to dire disgrace.
She bore him to his favourite room ;
His childhood's couch she spread ; And press 'd her white lips to his brow,
But not a word she said.
Yet ere again the brightening morn
O'er Erin's hills arose, The mother and the son were join'd
In death's profound repose.
�� �
