Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In

Who Shall Decide When Doctors Disagree, And Soundest Casuists Doubt, Like You And Me?

As With Narrow-necked Bottles; The Less They Have In Them, The More Noise They Make In Pouring Out.

To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines, Where Slumber Abbots, Purple As Their Wines.

But Would You Sing, And Rival Orpheus' Strain. The Wond'ring Forests Soon Should Dance Again; The Moving Mountains Hear The Powerful Call. And Headlong Streams Hand Listening In Their Fall!

But Blind To Former As To Future Fate, What Mortal Knows His Pre-existent State?