The Living Youth the Manners of my Friend.
From the Enshrouded Tenant of the Sod
I'll call the speaking Eye, the open Heart,
The Tongue belov'd of Knowledge, and the Form
That, could Deceit put on, Grey-headed Guile,
That judges from his own embosom'd Guilt,
Would yet be won, and lend a ductile Ear.
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Together, while the [Echo's] feeble Sound,
Halting in frozen regions of the Air,