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84

No more shall Scandal's breath destroy The social converse we enjoy With bard or critic tête à tête;— O'er Youth's bright blooms her blights shall pour, But spare the improving friendly hour That Science gives to—Thirty-eight.

Stripp'd of their gaudy hues by Truth, We view the glitt'ring toys of youth, And blush to think how poor the bait For which to public scenes we ran, And scorn'd of sober Sense the plan, Which gives content at—Thirty-eight.

Tho' Time's inexorable sway Has torn the myrtle bands away, For other wreaths 'tis not too late, The amaranth's purple glow survives, And still Minerva's olive lives On the calm brow of—Thirty-eight.