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And in each limb Existence writhes, enrolled 'Midst the dread circles of the venomed fold; Yet the strong spirit lives—and not a cry, Shall own the might of Nature's agony! That furrow'd brow unconquered soul reveals, That patient eye to angry heaven appeals, That struggling bosom concentrates its breath, 4 Nor yields one moan to torture or to death!

Sublimest triumph of intrepid Art! With speechless horror to congeal the heart, To freeze each pulse, and dart thro' every vein, Cold thrills of fear, keen sympathies of pain; Yet teach the spirit how its lofty power, May brave the pangs of fate's severest hour!

Turn from such conflicts, and enraptured gaze, On scenes where Painting all her skill displays: