IX.

The lands on either side are his; the ship

From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay, unloads

For him the fragrant produce of each trip;

Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the roads,

And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip;

His very cellars might be Kings' abodes;

While he, despising every sensual call,

Commands—the intellectual Lord of all.

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