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The Distressed Poet

A Serio-Comic Poem, in Three Cantos. By George Keate
  
  

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Upborn to regions far more clear,
Beyond this murky Atmosphere,
Their Forms all chang'd, each seem'd to shine
Replete with Majesty divine.
Cutting across th' etherial Blue,
Their cloud assum'd a silv'ry hue,
Unfurl'd its wavy folds, and show'd
The Opal Car on which they rode:
Central appear'd the Delphic God,
Twin'd round his brows the Laurels nod,
Bright in immortal youth he glow'd,
Adown his neck his ringlets flow'd,

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And whilst his eye shot forth his mind,
Upon his Lyre his hand reclin'd.
Each Muse in various robes array'd,
The emblem of her Rule display'd;
Graceful around sat all the Band,
Nor Fiction's pow'r, nor Sculpture's hand,
E'er lovelier pictur'd Beauty's Queen,
Than these fair Virgins now were seen.
Light mov'd the gallant Troop along,
Not without Converse, Wit, and Song,
And with their Frolic much delighted,
Safe on Parnassus' Top alighted.—