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Pectus enim id est quod disertos facit, et vis mentis; ideoque imperitis quoque, si modo sint aliquo affectu concitati, verba non desunt.
“ Why, William, on that old gray stone,
“ Where are your books that light bequeath'd “ To beings else forlorn and blind ! "Up! up! and drink the spirit breath'd “ From dead men to their kind,
“You look round on your mother earth,
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
“ The eye it cannot choose but see;
“ Nor less I deem that there are powers “ Which of thenıselves our minds impress; “ That we can feed this mind of ours " In a wise passiveness.