Part 69 (1/2)

In notes by distance made more sweet.

Line 68.

In hollow murmurs died away.

Line 95.

O Music! sphere-descended maid, Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid!

_Eclogue_ 1. Line 5.

Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell; 'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.

_Ode on the Death of Thomson_.

In yonder grave a Druid lies.

MARK AKENSIDE.

1721-1770.

_Epistle to Curio_.

The man forget not, though in rags he lies, And know the mortal through a crown's disguise.

NATHANIEL COTTON.

1721-1788.

_The Fireside_. St. 3.

If solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies; And they are fools who roam: The world has nothing to bestow; From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut--our home.

St. 13.