XXXVII

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XXXVII

So frequently his mind would stray

He well-nigh lost the use of sense,

Almost became a poet say⁠—

Oh! what had been his eminence!

Indeed, by force of magnetism

A Russian poem’s mechanism

My scholar without aptitude

At this time almost understood.

How like a poet was my chum

When, sitting by his fire alone

Whilst cheerily the embers shone,

He “Benedetta” used to hum,

Or “Idol mio,” and in the grate

Would lose his slippers or gazette.