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 From a rock's entrails the barbarian sprung Who dares to violate the sacred Throng By deeds or wordsThe wretch, by fury driv'n, Assaults the darling colony of Heav'n! Some have look'd down, we know, with scornful Eyes On the bright muse who taught 'em how to rise, And paid, when rais'd to grandeur, no regard From that high station to the sacred bard. Uninjur'd, mortals, let the poets lye, Or dread th' impending vengeance of the sky; The Gods still listen'd to their constant pray'r, And made the poets their peculiar care. They, with contempt on fortune's gifts look down And laugh at kings who fill an envy'd throne. Rais'd on the noble prospect of the mind, From their proud eminence they view mankind Lost in a cloud; they see them toil below, All busiebusy [sic] to promote their common woe. Of guilt unconscious, with a steddysteady [sic] soul, They see the lightnings flash, and hear the thunders roll. When girt with terrors, heav'nsheaven's [sic] almighty sire Launches his triple bolts, and forky fire, When