Finish’d the days, the clouds dispel’d The travail o’er, the long-sought extrication, When lo! reborn, high o’er the European world, (In gladness answering thence, as face afar to face, reflecting ours Columbia,) Again thy star O France, fair lustrous star, In heavenly peace, clearer, more bright than ever, Shall beam immortal.
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a time of economic travail
Lines formed in his face, and in those lines were the travail of the North, the bite of the frost, all that he had achieved and suffered