What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
Sweet instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.
And all may do what has by man been done.
A dedication is a wooden leg.
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
In chambers deep, Where waters sleep, What unknown treasures pave the floor.