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58
THE TRIUMPHS


And in that region, ne'er from error free,
The words he dictates are assign'd to me.
Observe this fiend, that Nature scorn'd to frame,
Offspring of Pride, and Apathy his name!
Passions he ne'er can feel, and ne'er impart,
A mis-created imp, without a heart;
In place of which his subtle parent pinn'd
A bladder, fill'd with circulating wind,
Which seems with mimic life the mass to warm,
And gives false vigour to his bloated form.
But place thee in the boat his arms direct,
My love shall watch thee, and my power protect."
So spake the friendly Sprite; th' obedient maid
Her form along the narrow vessel laid:
But oh! what terrors shake her tender soul,
As from the shore the bark begins to roll,
And, sever'd from her friend, her eyes discern
The steering spectre wading at the stern!
Far stronger fears her resolution melt,
Than those, which erst the bard of Florence felt,