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PREFATORY SONNET.

HERE ye, who love to tear Oblivion's veil

From the chill tomb, and strew fresh flowers around,

Where ancient sages slumber in the ground,
Come, join with me, and listen to the tale,
Which bids neglected Worth no more bewail

Her fate obscure; and calls the lyre to sound
Notes long forgot, while, with new laurels crown'd,
Old bards their renovated lustre hail!

Hark! the grave opens; the departed seer

Weaves the gay fancies of his mind again:

Breathe the soft tones once more, that drew the tear

From melting virgins in Eliza's reign!

O listen to the lore, and fan the flame,
That consecrates long-buried Worth to fame!

22 Dec. 1806.

387203

DIGESTED TABLE OF CONTENTS,

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