When wit and genius meet their doom In all devouring flame, They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the same. O`er Murray`s loss the Muses wept, They felt the rude alarm, Yet blessed the guardian care that kept His sacred head from harm. There memory, like the bee that`s fed From Flora`s balmy store, The quintessence of all he read Had treasured up before. The lawless herd, with fury blind, Have done him cruel wrong; The flowers are gone, — but still we find The honey on his tongue.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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