 
    Wb never climbed Paraassian heights; We never drank Castalian wine; Oar wings are plumed for common flight, And though we rise, we may not shine. We met; our souls together flowed; ,P rose failed our rapture to express, And Poesy was bom, and grew A petted child by our caress. Great is the love we bear this child ;E ach old crow has the blackest brood. OA nd every owl herself beguiles, 2H ers are the belle owls of the wood.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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