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ACROSTIC.
REY walls! where now for ages passed and gone,One race by turns have trod from sire to son,
Darkly ye frown, amid those woods which rise
In ancient grandeur to the dark blue skies,
Nor seem the weight of centuries to feel:
Though ye are grey and worn, but lovely still!
Old halls, ancestral towers, where'er we roam,
No other land can give—an English Home!
E.
November 24, 1838.
