Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile
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Then marble soften'd into life grew warm.
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The statue was of a nude woman playing a slide trombone. It was entitles, enigmatically, Evelyn and Her Magic Violin.
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Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,Make use of ev'ry friend__nd ev'ry foe.
Where beams of imagination play,The memory's soft figures melt away.
While pensive poets painful vigils keep,Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.