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310 Let Envy drop her raven quill, Let Slander’s venomed lip be still,
 * And hushed Detraction’s croaking song,

That dared, devoid of taste and sense, To call these sons of Eloquence
 * A spouting, stammering, schoolboy throng.

In vain, for they in grave debate Weighed mighty themes of church and state
 * With words of power, and looks of sages;

While far diffused, their gracious smile Soothed Bony in his prison-isle.
 * And Turkish wives in harem-cages!

Heaven bless them! for their generous pity Toiled hard to light our darkened city,
 * With that firm zeal that never flinches;

And long, to prove the love they bore us, With “more last words” they lingered o’er us,
 * And died, like a tom-cat, by inches!

H.