.Nw.OTU2

So when the chilling blast of secret woe Checks the souls genial current with its flow. When the death like lethargy arrests the mind, Till man forgets all feeling for his kind To his cold heart the friendly Muse can give Warmth, and a pulse that forces him to live By the sweet magic of their scene beguile, And bend his rigid muscles to a smile; Shake his stern breast with sympathathetick fears, And make his frozen eyelids melt in tears; Putting still her life restoring plan Till he percieves and ownes himself a man. Warmd with these hopes, this night we make appeal To Brutish Hearts, for they are hearts that feel.