O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless... Chambers's Cyclopædia of English Literature - Page 367 by Robert Chambers - 1902 Full view -
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