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Thou, mighty Sovran! o’er whose lofty reign the rising Sun rains earliest smile of light; sees it from middle firmamental plain; and sights it sinking on the breast of Night: Thou, whom we hope to hail the blight, the bane of the dishonour’d Ishmaëlitish knight; and Orient Turk, and Gentoo-misbeliever that drinks the liquor of the Sacred River: