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What talents rare, ne'er lent before by heav'n,
To him, the glory of his age, were giv'n?
What force of body, majesty of mind,
To make one perfect whole in him combin'd?
O'er his fine figure and distinguish'd face,
Life's rosy morn suffus'd cherubic grace;
While toils his sinews brace, his limbs dilate,
And arm his breast to brave the bolts of fate.
What peerless portion of th' Almighty's might
Nerv'd the new chief, magnanimous for fight?

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How o'er the rising race, by merit aw'd,
He look'd and mov'd conspicuous as a god?