Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee,
Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command;
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,
And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.
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Then, come, if a board so untempting hath power To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine; And there's one, long the light of the bard's happy bower, Who, smiling will blend her bright welcome with mine. very fine poem.. tony