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 * From thee sweet Hope her airy colouring draws;

And Fancy's flights are subject to thy laws. From thee that bosom-spring of rapture flows, Which only Virtue, tranquil Virtue knows.




 * When Joy's bright sun has shed his evening ray,

And Hope's delusive meteors cease to play; When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close, Still thro' the gloom thy star serenely glows: