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FANCY and FACT.
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So, gaily she bears us, her captives in chains,
With the quickness of thought over mountains and plains;
One moment with fairies we sport on the green,
The next in grave concourse with sages are seen.

Where met in gay circles earth's loveliest are,
We hear one exclaim, "Of the crowd I'm the star;"
Then quitting the scene, glad to wing our way from it,
We soar through blue ether, much more like a comet.

Though moonbeam and star-beam still bear us away,
We know our bright journey must close before day;
For jealous old Sol puts an end to our dreaming,
Shows the world as it is, and scorns all false seeming.

Like Midas, whose touch turned sand-dust to gold,
So Fancy works wonders too great to be told;
Yet hints she has given of rich diadems,
And garlands of straw changed to chaplets of gems.