No More Learning

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE 2_Iq_I8 1_ Where tufted trees a native arbor made
Again the holy fres on altars burn;
And once again the rav'nous birds return,
Or from the dark recesses where they lie,
Or from another quarter of the sky;
With filthy claws their odious meal repeat,
And mix their           ordures with their meat.