Excerpt from Keeuka, and Other Poems But most the power I lack; for Saxon speech Though rough as ragged ocean, yet is grand As the great sound of billows on the beach, That winds in wrath scourge bellowing to land. Yet, though the Muse ne beck me with her hand Up where Parnassian rills of passion flow, Where fancy's rainbows brilliantly are spanned Above thought's purest, most ethereal snow, Nathless I meekly sing this museless lay below.

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