Sable-vested Night, eldest of things.

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of death.

For so I created them free and free they must remain.

Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighboring eyes.

Enflamed with the study of learning and the admiration of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.

From his lips/Not words alone pleased her.