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Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong,
Man's heart, at once, infpirits and ferenes;
Nor makes him pay his wildom for his joys;
'Tis all our prefent ftate can fafely bear,
Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind!
And to the modeft eye chaftis'd delight!
Like the fair fummer-evening, mild, and fweet!
'Tis man's full cup; his paradife below!

$266. NIGHT VIII. Worldly Purfuits.

life's

ON gay ftage, one inch above the grave,
The proud run up and down in queft of eyes:
The fenfual, in purfuit of fomething worfe;
The grave, of gold; the politic, of pow'r;
And all, of other butterflies, as vain.

As eddies draw things frivolous, and light,
How is man's heart by vanity drawn in;
On the fwift circle of returning toys,

They ftill are men; and when is man fecure?
As fatal time as ftorm! the rush of years
Beats down their ftrength; their numberless
efcapes

In ruin end and now their proud fuccefs
But plants new terrors on the victor's brow:
What pain to quit the world just made their own,
Their neft fo deeply down'd, and built fo high!
Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.

A

$268. The Love of Diftinétion.

MBITION! pleafure! let us talk of thefe:
Doft grafp at greatnefs? first, know what it is;
Think't thou thy greatnefs in diftinction lies?
Not in the feather, wave it e'er fo high,
Is glory lodg'd: 'tis lodg'd in the reverse;
In that which joins, in that which equals all,
The monarch, and his flave :-" A deathlefs foul,

Whirl'd, ftraw-like, round and round, and then Unbounded profpect, and immortal kin,

ingulph'd,

Where gay delufion darkens to despair!

§ 267. Human Life compared to the Ocean.

A father God, and brothers in the fkies !"
We wifely ftrip the fteed we mean to buy ;
Judge we, in their caparifons, of men?

It nought avails thee, where, but what thou art;
All the diftinctions of this little life
Arc quite cutaneous, foreign to the man: [creep,

OCEAN! thou dreadful and tumultuous home When thro'death's freights earth's fubtil ferpents

Of dangers, at eternal war with man! Death's capital! where moft he domineers, With all his chofen terrors frowning round, Tho' lately feafted high at Albion's coft, Wide op'ning, and loud roaring ftill for more! Too faithful mirror! how dost thou reflect The melancholy face of human life! Tae ftrong refemblance tempts me farther ftill: And, haply, Britain may be deeper ftruck By moral truth, in fuch a mirror feen, Which nature holds for ever at her eye.

Self-flatter'd, unexperienc'd, high in hope, When young, with fanguine cheer, and streamers We cut our cable, launch into the world, [gay, And fondly dream cach wind and far our friend; All in fome darling enterprife embark'd: But where is he can fathom its event? Amid a multitude of artlefs hands, Ruin's fure perquifite! her lawful prize! Some fteer aright; but the black blaft blows hard, And puffs them wide of hope: with hearts of proof

Full against wind, and tide, fome win their way;
And when ftrong effort has deferv'd the port,
And tugg'd it into view, 'tis won! 'tis loft!
They ftrike; and, while they triumph, they
expire.

In ftrefs of weather, moft: fome fink outright;
O'er them and o'er their names the billows clofe;
To-morrow knows not they were ever born:
Others a fhort memorial leave behind;
Like a flag floating, when the bark 's ingulph'd,
It floats a moment, and is feen no more:
One Cæfar lives, a thoufand are forgot.
How few beneath aufpicious planets born,
With fwelling fails make good the promis'd port,
With all their wishes freighted! Yet even thefe,
Freighted with all their wishes, foon complain:

Which wriggle into wealth, or climb renown,
They leave their party-colour'd robe behind,
All that now glitters, while they rear aloft
Their brazen crefts, and hifs at us below..
How mean that fnuff of glory fortune lights,
And death puts out! doft thou demand a teft,
A teft at ofte infallible and short,

Of real greatnefs? that man greatly lives,
Whate'er his fate or fame, who greatly dies:
High-flufh'd with hope, where heroes fhall
defpair.

$269. Pleafure.
THOUGH fomewhat difconcerted, fleady ftill
To the world's caufe, with half a face of joy,
Lorenzo cries, "Be, then, ambition caft;
Ambition's dearer far ftands unimpeach'd,
Gay pleasure proud ambition is her flave:
Who can refift her charms?"-Or, should?
Lorenzo !

What mortal fhall refift, where angels yield?
Picafure 's the miftrefs of ethereal pow'rs;
Pleafure's the mistress of the world below:
How would all stagnate, but for pleasure's ray!
What is the pulfe of this fo bufy world?
The love of pleafure: that, thro' ev'ry vein,
Throws motion, warmth; and fhuts out death
from life.

Tho' various are the tempers of mankind,
Pleafure's gay family holds all in chains.
Some moft affect the black; and fome the fair:
Whate'er the motive, pleasure is the mark:
For her the black affaffin draws his fword;
For her, dark statesmen trim their midnight-lamp,
To which no fingle facrifice may fall;
The Stoic proud, for pleafure, pleasure fcorn'd;
For her, affliction's daughters grief indulge,

And find, or hope, a luxury in tears:
For her, guilt, thame, toil, danger, we defy,
And, with an aim voluptuous, rush on death:
Thus univerfal her defpotic pow'r.

Patron of pleasure! I thy rival am; Pleasure, the purpose of my gloomy fong. Pleasure is nought but virtue's gayer name→ I wrong her ftill, I rate her worth too low: Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flow'r.

The love of pleafure is man's eldeft-born, Born in his cradle, living to his tomb: Wifdom, her younger fifter, tho' more grave, Was meant to minifter, and not to mar Jinperial pleasure, queen of human hearts.

270. Rife of Pleasure.

FIRST, pleafure's birth, rife, ftrength, and grandeur fee.

Brought forth by wifdom, nurs'd by difcipline,
By patience taught, by perfeverance crown'd,
She rears her head majeftic; round her throne,
Erected in the bofom of the juft,

Each virtue, lifted, forms her manly guard :
For what are virtues? (formidable name!)
What, but the fountain, or defence, of joy?
Great legiflator! fcarce fo great as kind!
If men are rational, and love delight,
Thy gracious law but flatters human choice:
In the tranfgreffion lies the penalty;
And they the moft indulge, who most obey.

§ 271. The End of Pleasure.
OF pleafure, next, the final caufe explore;
Its mighty purpofe, its important end.
Not to turn human brutal, but to build
Divine on human, pleasure came from heav'n:
In aid to reafon was the goddess fent,

To call up all its ftrength by fuch a charm.
Pleasure firft fuccours virtue; in return,
Virtue gives pleasure an eternal reign.
What, but the pleasure of food, friendship, faith,
Supports life natural, civil, and divine?
It ferves ourselves, our fpecies, and our God;
Glide then for ever, plcature's facred ftream 4
Through Eden as Euphrates ran, it runs,
And fofters ev'ry growth of happy life;
Makes a new Eden where it flows.

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A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd;
A Deity belov'd, is joy matur'd.
Each branch of piety delight infpires:

Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,
O'er death's dark gulph, and all its horror hides;
Praife, the fweet exhalation of our joy,
That joy exalts, and makes it fweeter ftill;
Pray'r ardent opens heaven, lets down a ftream
Of glory, on the confecrated hour
Of man, in audience with the Deity.
Who worships the great God, that inftant joins
The first in heav'n, and fets his foot on hell,

§ 273. Refources of a Dejected Mind.
RT thou dejected is thy mind o'ercaft?

Thy gloom to chafe, go, fix fome weighty truth;

Chain down fome paffion; do fome gen'rous good; Teach ignorance to fee; or grief to fmile; Correct thy friend; befriend thy greatest foe; Or, with warm heart, and confidence divine, Spring up, and lay ftrong hold on him who made thee

Thy gloom is fcatter'd, fprightly fpirits flow; Tho' wither'd is thy vine, and harp unftrung.

Doft call the bowl, the viol, and the dance, Loud mirth, mad laughter? wretched comforters Phyficians! more than half of thy disease. Laughter, tho' never cenfur'd yet as fin, Is half-immoral. Is it much indulg'd' By venting fpleen, or diffipating thought, It fhews a fcorner, or it makes a fool; And fins, as hurting others, or ourselves. The houfe of laughter makes a house of woe: What caufe for triumph, where fuch ills abound? What for dejection, where prefides a pow'r, Who call'd us into being to be blefs'd? So grieve, as confcious grief may rife to joy ; So joy, as confcious joy to grief may fall: Moft true, a wife man never will be fad; A fhallow ftream of happiness betray; But neither will fonorous, bubbling mirth Too happy to be fportive, he 's ferene.

Retire, and read thy bible, to be gay.
There truths abound of fov'reign aid to peace:
Ah! do not prize them lefs, because inspir'd;
If not infpir'd, that pregnant page had flood,
Time's treafure! and the wonder of the wife!
But thefe, thou think it, are gloomy paths to
jov.

True joy in funshine ne'er was found at first:
They, firft, themfelves offend, who greatly please,
And travel only gives us found repofe.
Heaven fells all pleasure; effort is the price;
The joys of conqueft are the joys of man ;
And glory the victorious laurel fpreads
O'er pleature's pure, perpetual, placid stream.

§ 274. A Man of Pleafure is a Man of Pains.
THERE is a time, when toil must be preferr'd,
Or joy, by miftim'd fondnefs, is undone.
A man of pleafure is a man of pains,
Thou wilt not take the trouble to be blefs'd,

Falfe

Falfe jovs, indeed, are born from want of thought;
From thought's full bent, and energy, the true;
And that demands a mind in equal poife,
Remote from gloomy grief, and glaring joy.
Much joy not only fpeaks fmall happiness,
But happiness that shortly must expire:
Can joy, unbottom'd in reflection, stand?
And in a tempeft can reflection live?
Can joy like thine fecure itfelf an hour?
Can joy like thine meet accident unshock'd,
the door to honeft poverty?

Or

ope

Or talk with threat'ning death, and not turn pale?
In fuch a world, and fuch a nature, thefe
Are necdful fundamentals of delight:
Thefe fundamentals give delight indeed;
Delight, pure, delicate, and durable;
Delight, unfhaken, mafculine, divine;
A conftant, and a found, but serious joy.
Is joy the daughter of feverity?
It is: Yet far my doctrine from fevere:
"Rejoice for ever;" it becomes a man;
Exalts, and fets him nearer to the gods;
Rejoice for ever," Nature cries, "Rejoice;"
And drinks to man, in her nectareous cup,
Mix'd
up of delicates for ev'ry fenfe;
To the great Founder of the bounteons feast
Drinks glory, gratitude, eternal praise;
And he that will not pledge her, is a churl.
Ill firmly to fupport, good fully tafte,
Is the whole fcience of felicity.
Yet fparing pledge; her bowl is not the best
Mankind can boaft: A rational repaft;
Exertion, vigilance, a mind in arms,
A military difcipline of thought,
To foil temptation in the doubtful field;
An ever-waking ardour for the right,

'Tis thefe first give, then guard a cheerful heart.
Nought that is right, think little; well aware,
What reafon bids, God bids: by his command,
How aggrandis'd the fmalleft thing we do!
Thus nothing is infipid to the wile;
To thee infipid all, but what is mad;
Joys feafon'd high, and tasting ftrong of guilt.

CON

275. Earthly Happiness. ONSISTENT wifdom ever wills the fame; Thy fickle with is ever on the wing. Sick of herself is folly's character; As wifdom's is a modeft felf applaufe. A change of evils is thy good fupreme; Nor, but in motion, canft thou find thy reft. Man's greateft ftrength is fhewn in ftanding ftill: The firit fure fymptom of a mind in health, 1 rett of heart, and pleafure felt at home. Falfe pleafure from abroad her joys imports; Rich from within, and felf-fuftain'd, the true: The true is fix'd, and folid, as a rock; Sipp'ry the falfe, and toffing, as the wave : 'Tis love o'erflowing makes an angel here; Such angels all, intitled to repofe

On him who governs fate. Tho' tempeft frowns, Tho' nature thakes, how foft to lean on heav'n! To lean on Him on whom archangels lean! With inward eyes, and filent as the grave,

They stand collecting ev'ry beam of thought,
Till their hearts kindle with divine delight;
For all their thoughts, like angels feen of old
In Ifrael's dream, come from and go to heav'n:
Hence are they ftudious of fequefter'd fcenes,
While noife and diffipation comfort thee.
§ 276. Joy.

VAIN are all fudden fallies of delight;
Convulfions of a weak, distemper'd joy.
Joy's a fix'd ftate; a tenor, not a start:
Blifs there is none, but unprecarious blifs:
That is the gem; fell all, and purchase that..
Reafon perpetuates joy that reafon gives,
And makes it as immortal, as herself:
To mortals, nought immortal, but their worth.
$277. Follies of Imagination.
this is feen imagination's guilt; [thee
But who can count her follies? She betrays
To think in grandeur there is fomething great.
For works of curious art, and ancient fame,
Thy genius hungers, elegantly pain'd;
And foreign climes muft cater for thy taste.
Hence what difafter !-Tho' the price was paid,
That perfecuting priest, the Turk of Rome
Detain'd thy dinner on the Latian shore;
And poor magnificence is ftarv'd to death.
Hence, juft refentment, indignation, ire!—

IN

$278. Pleajure confifls in Goodness. PLEASURE, we both agree, is man's chief good;

Our only conteft, what deferves the name ? [pafs'd
Give pleafurc's name to nought, but what has
Th' authentic feal of reafon, which defies
The tooth of time; when paft a pleasure ftill;
Dearer on trial, lovelier for its age,
And doubly to be priz'd, as it promotes
Our future, while it forms our prefent joy.
Some joys the future overcaft; and fome
Throw all their beams that way, and gild the
Some joys endear eternity: fome give [tomb:
Abhorr❜d annihilation dreadful charms.
Are rival joys contending for thy choice?
Confult thy whole exiftence, and be fafe;
That oracle will put all doubt to flight:
Be good,-and let heav'n answer for the reft.

Yet, with a figh o'er all mankind, I grant,
In this our day of proof, our land of hope,
The good man has his clouds that intervene
Clouds that obfcure his fublunary day,
But never conquer. Ev'n the beft must own,
Patience, and refignation, are the pillars
Of human peace on earth: remote from thee,
Till this heroic leffon thou haft learn'd;
To frown at pleasure, and to fimile in pain,
Fir'd at the profpect of unclouded blifs.
Heav'n in reverfion, like the fun as yet
Beneath th' horizon, cheers us in this world;
It sheds, on fouls fufceptible of light,
The glorious dawn of our eternal day.

Now fee the man immortal: him, I mean, Who lives as fuch; whofe heart, full bent on heav'n, Leans

Leans all that way his bias to the ftars.
The world's dark shades, in contraft fet, fhal

raife

His luftre more; tho' bright, without a foil.
Obferve his awful portrait, and admire:
Nor ftop at wonder; imitate and live.

$279. Pilure of a Good Man. WITH afpect mild, and elevated eye,

Behold him feated on a mount ferene, Above the fogs of fenfe, and patlion's ftorm; All the black cares and tumults of this life, Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet; Earth's genuine fons, the fceptred and the flave, A mingled mob! a wand'ring herd! he fees Dewilder'd in the vale; in all unlike! His full reverfe in all! what higher praise? What stronger demonftration of the right?

The prefent all their care; the future, his : When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to fame; his bounty he conceals: Their virtues varnish nature; his exalt : Theirs, the wild chace of falfe felicities; His, the compos'd poffeffion of the true : Alike throughout is his confiftent peace, All of one colour, and an even thread; While party-colour'd fhreds of happincfs, With hideous gaps between, patch up for them A madman's robe; each puff of fortune blows The tatters by, and fhews their nakednefs. He fees with other eyes than theirs; where they Behold a fun, he fpies a Deity; What makes them only fmile, makes him adore; Where they fee mountains, he but atoms fees; An empire, in his balance, weighs a grain: They things terreftrial worship, as divine; His hopes immortal blow them by, as duft, That dims his fight, and fhortens his furvey, Which longs, in infinite. to lofe all bound: Titles and honours (if they prove his fate) He lays afide, to find his dignity: They triumph in externals (which conceal Man's real glory) proud of an eclipse; He nothing thinks fo great in man, as man; Too dear he holds his int'reft, to neglect Another's welfare, or his right invade; Their int'reft, like a lion's, lives on prey: They kindle at the fhadow of a wrong; Wrong he furtains with temper, looks on heav'n, Nor foops to think his injurer his foc; Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his

peace;

A cover'd heart their character defends;
A cover'd heart denies him half his praise:
With nakedness his innocence agrees;
While their broad foliage teftifies their fall:
Their no joys end, where his full feaft begins;
His joys create, theirs murder, future blis:
To triumph in exiftence, his alone;
And his alone, triumphantly to think
H's true cxiftence is not yet begun :
His glorious courfe was, yefterday, complete;
Death, then, was welcome, yet life ftill is tweet.

$280. The Fall of the Good Man.

BUT nothing charms Lorenzo, like the firm, Undaunted breait:-And whofe is that high

praife?

They yield to pleafare, tho' they danger brave,
And fhew no fortitude, but in the field;
if there they fhew it, 'tis for glory fhown;
Nor will that cordial always man their hearts:
A cordial his fuftains, that cannot fail:
By pleafure unfubdu'd, unbroke by pain,
He thares in that omnipotence he truts:
All-bearing, all-attempting, till he fails,
And, when he falls, writes VICI on his fhield;
From magnaniinity, all fear above;
From nobler recompenfe, above applause.

§ 281. Wit and Wisdom.

WIT, how delicious to man's dainty rafte!→→
'Tis precious, as the vehicle of fente;
But, as its fubftitute, a dire difeafe :
Pernicious talent! flatter'd by mankind,
Yet hated too; they think the talent rare.
Wifdom is rare, Lorenzo! wit abounds;
Paffion can give it; fometimes wine infpires
The lucky flafh; and madness rarely fails.
Whatever caufe the fpirit ftrongly ftirs,
Confers the bays, and rivals thy renown;
Chance often hits it; and, to pique thee more,
Ste duinefs blund'ring on vivacitics.
But wildom, awful wifdom! which infpects,
Difcerns, compares, weighs, feparates, infers,
Seizes the right, and holds it to the laft;
How rare! In fenates, fynods, fought in vain;
Or, if there found, 'tis facred to the few.
While a loud proftitute to multitudes,
Frequent as fatal, wit. In civil life,
Wit makes an enterpriser; fenfe, a man:
Senfe is our helmet, wit is but the plume;
The plume expofes, 'tis our helmet faves:
Senfe is the diamond, weighty, folid, found;
When cut by wit, it cafts a brighter beain;
Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond itill:
Wit, widow'd of good fenfe, is worse than
It hoifts more fail to run against a rock. [nought;
How ruinous the rock I warn thee fhun,
Where fyrens fit, to fing thee to thy fate!
Let not the cooings of the world allure thee;
Which of her lovers ever found her true?
Happy! of this bad world who little know ;-
She gives but little; nor that little, long.
There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulse;
A dance of fpirits, a mere froth of joy,
That mantles high, that fparkles and expires,
Leaving the foul more vapid than before;
An aniinal ovation! fuch as holds
No commerce with our reafon, but fubfifts
On juices thro' the well-ton'd tubes, well-strain'd;
A nice machine! fcarce ever tun'd aright;
But when it jars, thy fyrens fing no more,
The demi-god is thrown beneath the man;
In coward loom inmers'd, or fell despair..

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Hard either talk! The moft abandon'd own,
That others, if abandon'd, are undone :
Then, for themselves, the moment reafon wakes,
O how laborious is their gaiety!
They fcarce can mufter patience for the farce;
And pump fad laughter, till the curtain falls:
Scarce, did I fay? Some cannot fit it out;
Oft their own daring hands the curtain draw,
And fhew us what their joy, by their despair.
The clotted hair! gor'd breaft! blafpheming eye!
Its impious fury still alive in death!
Shut, ihut the fhocking fcene.-But heav'n denies
A cover to fuch guilt; and fo fhould man.
Look round, Lorenzo! fee the reeking blade;
Th' envenom'd phial, and the fatal ball;
The ftrangling cord, and fuffocating stream;
The loathiome rottennefs and foul decays
From raging riot (flower fuicides!),
And pride in thefe, more execrable ftill!-
How horrid all to thought!-But horrors, thefe,
That vouch the truth, and aid my feeble fong.

fcene;

§ 283. NIGHT IX. Reflections on Death. WHERE the prime actors of the last year's [plume: Their port fo proud, their bufkin, and their How many fleep, who kept the world awake With luftre, and with noiie? Has Death proclaim'd A truce, and hung his fated lance on high? 'Tis brandifh'd ftill; nor fhall the prefent year Be more tenacious of her human leaf, Or fpread of feeble life a thinner fall.

But needless monuments to wake the thought; Life's gayeft fcenes fpeak man's mortality, Tho' in a ftyle more florid, full as plain, As maufoleums, pyramids, and tombs. What are our nobleft ornaments, but deaths Turn'd flatterers of life, in paint, or marble, The well-ftain'd canvas, or the featur'd ftone? Our fathers grace, or rather haunt, the fcene; Joy peoples her pavilion from the dead.

Profeft diverfions! cannot thefe escape?" Far from it; thefe prefent us with a shroud, And talk of death, like garlands o'er the grave. As fome bold plunderers, for buried wealth, We ranfack tombs for paftime; from the duft Call up the fleeping hero; bid him tread The fcene for our amufement: how like gods We fit; and, wrapt in immortality, Shed gen'rous tears on wretches born to die; Their fate deploring, to forget our own!

$284. The World a Grave.

And is the ceiling of her fleeping fons :,
O'er devaftation we blind revels keep;
Whole buried towns fupport the dancer's heel;
The moift of human frame the fun exhales;
Winds featter, thro' the mighty void, the dry;
Earth re-poffeffes part of what she gave,
And the freed fpirit mounts on wings of fire;
Each element partakes our fcatter'd ipoils;
As nature wide, our ruins fpread: man's death
Inhabits all things, but the thought of man.

§ 285. The Triumphs of Death..
OR man alone; his breathing buft expires;

NOR

His tomb is mortal; empires die: Where now The Roman? Greek? They ftalk, an empty name! Yet few regard them in this useful light; Tho' half our learning is their epitaph. [thought, When down thy vale, unlock'd by midnight That loves to wander in thy funless realms, O Death! I ftretch my view; what vifions risel What triumphs toils imperial! arts divine! In wither'd laurels, glide before my fight! What lengths of far-fam'd ages, billow'd high With human agitation, roll along In unfubftantial images of air! The melancholy ghofts of dead renown, Whilp'ring faint echos of the world's applaufe With penitential afpect, as they pass, All point at earth, and hiss at human pride.

§ 286. Deluge and Conflagration. BUT, O Lorenzo! far the rest above,

Of ghaftly nature, and enormous fize, One form affaults my fight, and chills my blood, And thakes my frame: of one departed world I fee the mighty fhadow; oozy wreath And difmal fea-weed crown her; o'er her urn Reclin'd, the weeps her defolated realms, And bloated fons; and, weeping, prophefics Another's diffolution, foon, in flames.

Deluge and Conflagration, dreadful pow'rs! Prime minifters of vengeance! chain'd in caves Diftinct, apart the giant-furies roar;

Apart; or, fuch their horiid rage for ruin,
In mutual conflict would they rife, and wage
Eternal war, till one was quite devour'd':
But not for this ordain'd their boundless rage;
When heav'n's inferior inftruments of wrath,
War, famine, peftilence, are found too weak
To fcourge a world for her enormous crimes;
Thefe are let loofe, alternate: down they rush,
Swift and tempeftuous, from th' eternal throne,
With irrefiftible commiffion arm'd,
T'he world, in vain corrected, to destroy,
And ease creation of the fhocking scene.

$287. The Laft Day.

SEEST thou, Lorenzo! what depends on man?
The fate of nature; as, for man, her birth:

WHAT is the world itfelf? thy world?-a Earth's actors change earth's tranfitory scenes,

grave?

And make creation groan with human guilt:
How must it groan, in a new deluge whelm'd;
But not of waters? at the destin'd hour,
By the loud trumpet fummon'd to the charge,

Where is the duft that has not been alive?
The fpade, the plough, difturb our ancestors;
From human mould we reap cur daily bread :
The globe around earth's hollow furface shakes,See, all the formidable fons of fire,

Eruptions,

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