LXXXIX
If my house-swallow, laboring with zest,
Felt like myself the burden of unrest,
Unlightened by inscrutable designs,
She would not build her young that cozy nest.
XC
Thy life with guiltless life-blood do not stain—
Hunt not the children of the woods; in vain
Thou'lt try one day to wash thy bloody hand
Nor hunter here nor hunted long remain
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