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HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS.
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-wing'd Roc,Though tastemay blush and frown, and sober reason mock.
Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsoughtArrange themselves in some romantic lay;The which, as things unfitting graver thought,Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day.—These few survive—and, proudly let me say,Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his frown;They well may serve to while an hour away,Nor does the volume ask for more renown,Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops it down.