And Seem To Walk On Wings, And

By Music Minds An Equal Temper Know, Nor Swell Too High, Nor Sink Too Low. . . . . Warriors She Fires With Animated Sounds. Pours Balm Into The Bleeding Lover's Wounds.

The Most Positive Men Are The Most Credulous.

The Season When To Come, And When To Go, To Sing, Or Cease To Sing, We Never Know.

Fly, Dotard, Fly! With Thy Wise Dreams And Fables Of The Sky.

To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines, Where Slumber Abbots, Purple As Their Wines.