[[11]]
It mounts, it totters F. F.
[[12]]
It groans, it quivers F. F.
[[14]]
of] and F. F.
[[15]]
Forlorn the] The toil-worn F. F.
[[17-20]]
Say then what power evoked such genial strains
And beckon'd godlike to the trembling Muse?
The thought not pleasureless of suffer'd pains
But chiefly friendship's voice, her holy dues.