Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.
First let me praise - for so I best shall paint
That pious moralist, that reasoning saint!
Can I of worth like thine, Eusebius, speak?
The man is willing, but the Muse is weak; -
’Tis thine to wait on woe! to soothe! to heal!
With learning social, and polite with zeal:
In thy pure breast although the passions dwell,
They’re train’d by virtue, and no more rebel;
But have so long been active on her side,