* * * * *
Full many a forest oak of stately size
To menial purpose bends it’s lofty head;
Full many a treasure undiscover’d lies
Beneath the passenger’s unconscious tread.
Some latent Wren, who up the scaffold high,
Obedient hasten’d to the bricklayers call:
Some poor harmonic Tinker here may lie,
Some Statesman guiltless of his country’s fall.
The Virtuoso’s praises to command,