I.
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AY set on Norham’s castled steep,And Tweed’s fair river, broad and deep,And Cheviot’s mountains lone;The battled towers, the donjon keep,The loophole grates where captives weep,The flanking walls that round it sweep,In yellow lustre shone.The warriors on the turrets high,Moving athwart the evening sky,Seemed forms of giant height:Their armour, as it caught the rays,Flashed back again the western blaze,In lines of dazzling light.
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