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65
FIELD-FOOT CEDAR. II.
Not Menalus, with all his sylvan throng,Waving applausive to the reed of Pan
While nymphal feet the dancing measure scan,—
Nor Val di Noto, though its forests rung
With Doric harmonies ere Maro sung, —
Not Monte Mario, though the Pine be there
That owes its menaced life to Beaumont's care,
Its glory to the Lute by Wordsworth strung,—
Outcharms these wild wood-rocks to Fancy's eye,
While she beholds this Himalayan plant
A stately cedar, potent to enchant
Beneath its umbrage, in a future age,
Some Poet destined to a mission high,
A Weird successor of the Rydal Sage.
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