 | Trifles |  |
187
Who tastes such converse, L---, with thee!
Each social hour is spent in joys sublime,
Whilst hand in hand o'er learning's Alps you climb;
Thro' reason's paths in search of truth proceed,
And clear the flow'ry way from every weed;
Till from her antient cavern rais'd to light,
The beauteous stranger stands reveal'd to sight.
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