Who hung with woods, yon mountain's sultry brow?
From the dry Rock, who bade the waters flow?
Not to the skies in useless columns tost,
Nor in proud falls, magnificently lost.
But clear and artless, pouring through the plain
Health to the Sick, and solace to the Swain."
Pope.—
"Integer vitæ, scelerisque [purus]
Non eget &c. &c."