XLI.
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hey glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide;Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,With a huge empty flaggon by his side:The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:--The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;--The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.
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