And chiding Fame, by whispering to the Soul
Domestic Ills, she [triumph'd] over praise,
And, through th' untasted Plaudit of a World,
Led the blind Bard in Sadness to the Tomb.—
I ask no Mantuan Muse with silver Wing
To bear me in some rapid even flight
Thro' distant Ages, tho' so sweet her Bard
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That yet the Traveller o'er each Hill he sang,
Transported, [wanders], feeling power divine