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 The true Fons Juventutis; ye Pass with conquest that Red Sea, And stretch out your victorious hand Over the Fair and Holy Land. O by the Church's pondering art Late set and named upon the chart Of her divine astronomy, Through your influence from on high Long shed unnoted! Bright New cluster in our Northern night, Cleanse from its pain and undelight An impotent and tarnished hymn, Whose marish exhalations dim Splendours they would transfuse! And thou Kindle the words which blot thee now, Over whose sacred corse unhearsed Europe veiled her face, and cursed The regal mantle grained in gore Of genius, freedom, faith, and More!

Ah, happy Fool of Christ, unawed By familiar sanctities, You served your Lord at holy ease! Dear Jester in the Courts of God In whose spirit, enchanting yet, Wisdom and love together met, Laughed on each other for content! That an inward merriment, An inviolate soul of pleasure, To your motions taught a measure All your days; which tyrant king, Nor bonds, nor any bitter thing, Could embitter or perturb;