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?iO N NET$ � 311 �XVIL P?toM?.?n?os, was not the celestial fire, Thy bold hand snatch'd, to quicken slegglsh clay, That subde spark--that animating ray, On earth, call'd Oeniub ? Soul of poet's lyrc? Of painting's band, of muslc's seraph-choir, Th' informing spirit ? and, Pygmalion, .say; Did not thy fabled .statue life display, Touch'd by that torch; which can alone inspire Marble with warmth ? Oh, h?av'n-descended guest, Creative enerb, y, one glance of thine Can all. the labour'd works of Art outshine ! I own thee Sovereign of my willing breast, Lord of my te.ars, and smiles; Oor meanly blest? Admir'd in others, might I call thee. mine ! ......... ?Google
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