And More Than Echoes Talk Along The

Taste, That Eternal Wanderer, Which Flies From Head To Ears, And Now From Ears To Eyes.

Like Cato, Give His Little Senate Laws, And Sit Attentive To His Own Applause.

Aurora Now, Fair Daughter Of The Dawn, Sprinkled With Rosy Light The Dewy Lawn.

Why Did I Write? Whose Sin To Me Unknown Dipt Me In Ink, My Parents', Or My Own? As Yet A Child, Nor Yet A Fool To Fame, I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

Order Is Heaven's First Law; And This Confess, Some Are And Must Be Greater Than The Rest.