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O sweet disciple, bow thyself to learn
The alphabet of tears. Receive the lore,
Sharp though it be, to an unanswering breast,
A will subdued. And may such wisdom spring
From these rough rudiments, and thou shalt gain
A class more noble, and, advancing, soar
Where the sole lesson is a seraph's praise.

Yea, be a docile scholar, and so rise

Where mourning hath no place.

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