III.
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ay, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 15Afford a present to the Infant God?Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,To welcome him to this his new abode,Now while the heaven, by the Sun's team untrod,Hath took no print of the approaching light, 20And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?
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