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"Nought loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to Thought A greater than itself to know: "And Father, how can I love you Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little bird That picks up crumbs around the door." The Priest sat by and heard the child, In trembling zeal he siez'd his hair: He led him by his little coat, And all admir'd the Priestly care. And standing on the altar high, "Lo! what a fiend is here!'' said he, "One who sets reason up for judge Of our most holy Mystery." The weeping child could not be heard, The weeping parents wept in vain; They strip'd him to his little shirt, And bound him in an iron chain; And burn'd him in a holy place, Where many had been burn'd before: The weeping parents wept in vain. Are such things done on Albion's shore?
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