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Rh Every ruder gut of paion &emsp;Lull'd with muic dies away, Till within the charmed boom &emsp;None but oft affections play:

Soft, as when the evening breezes &emsp;Gently tir the poplar grove; Brighter than the mile of ummer, &emsp;Sweeter than the breath of love.

Thee, th' inchanted Mue hall follow, &emsp;! to the rutic cell, And each careles note repeating &emsp;Tune them to her charming hell.

Not the Mue who wreath'd with laurel &emsp;Solemn talks with tragic gait, And in clear and lofty viion &emsp;Sees the future births of fate; Not