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SONNE T.

A LONELY Man he was, from whom these lays Flow'd in his cloister'd musings: He in scorn Held them, the unfeeling multitude, who born For deeds of nobler purpose, their ripe days Waste amidst fraudful industry, to raise Inglorious wealth.

But He, life's studious morn

Gave to the Muse, so best might he adorn
His thoughtful brow with never-dying bays.
And well the Muse repaid him. She hath given
An unsubstantial world of richer fee;

High thoughts, unchanging visions, that the leaven
Of earth partake not; Rich then must he be,
Who of this cloudless world, this mortal heaven,
Possesseth in his right the Sovereignty.

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