CVII. The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year, In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; The lord of irony,--that master spell, Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, And doomed him to the zealot's ready hell, Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well.
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