XC. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are LEAST alone; A truth, which through our being then doth melt, And purifies from self: it is a tone, The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone, Binding all things with beauty;--'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.
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