III.
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he music of the Sirens foundUlysses weak, though cords were strong;But happier Orpheus stood unbound,And shamed it with a sweeter song.His mode be mine. Of Heav’n I ask,May I, with heart-persuading might,Pursue the Poet’s sacred taskOf superseding faith by sight,Till ev’n the witless Gadarene,Preferring Christ to swine, shall knowThat life is sweetest when it’s clean.To prouder folly let me showEarth by divine light made divine;And let the saints, who hear my word,Say, ‘Lo, the clouds begin to shineAbout the coming of the Lord!’
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