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Oh could my Mind, unfolded in my page,

Enlighten climes and mould a future age!

There as it glow'd, with noblest frenzy fraught,

Dispense the treasures of exalted thought;

To Virtue wake the pulses of the heart,

And bid the tear of Emulation ftart!

Oh could it ftill, thro' each succeeding year,

My life, my manners, and my name endear;

And, when the poet sleeps in filent duft,
Still hold communion with the wise and juft!-
Yet should this Verse, my leisure's best resource,

When thro' the world it steals its secret course,

Revive but once a generous wish suppreft,

Chase but a figh, or charm a care to rest;

in one good deed a fleeting hour employ,

Or flush one faded cheek with honeft joy;

Bleft were my lines, tho' limited their sphere,

Tho' short their date, as his who trac'd them here.

S. R.

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Hoc elt
Vivere bis, vitâ posse priore frui.


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