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1 Hermit hoar, in solemn cell Wearing out life's evening gray, Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell What is bliss, and which the way.
2 Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, Scarce repress'd the starting tear, When the hoary sage replied, 'Come, my lad, and drink some beer.'
[Footnote 1: Supposed to be Percy.]
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