Those very lays are out of print,
A proof this age does not inherit
One ounce of true poetic spirit)
O come, and bring (delightful things)
A pair of Della Cruscan wings,
That we, by sublimated flight,
May “STEM THE CATARACT OF LIGHT.”
Then condescend to be my crony,
And guide my wild Parnassian pony,
Till our aerial cutter runs[68]