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Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid

Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire;

Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,

Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

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But Knowledge, to their eyes, her ample page,

Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll ;

Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

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Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

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