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 WAKE! ye forms of verse divine; Painting! descend on canvas wing, And hover o’er my head, Design!
 * Your son, your glorious son, I sing!

At Trumbull’s name, I break my sloth,
 * To load him with poetic riches;

The Titian of a table-cloth!
 * The Guido of a pair of breeches!

Come, star-eyed maid, Equality!
 * In thine adorer’s praise I revel;

Who brings, so fierce his love to thee,
 * All forms and faces to a level:

Old, young, great, small, the grave, the gay,
 * Each man might swear the next his brother,

And there they stand in dread array,
 * To fire their votes at one another.

How bright their buttons shine! how straight
 * Their coat-flaps fall in plaited grace!

How smooth the hair on every pate!
 * How vacant each immortal face!