VIII.

He is your only poet;—Passion, pure

And sparkling on from heap to heap, displays,

Possessed, the ore, of which mere hopes allure

Nations athwart the deep: the golden rays

Flash up in ingots from the mine obscure:

On him the Diamond pours its brilliant blaze,

While the mild Emerald's beam shades down the dies

Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes.

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