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HE Sun's bright Palace, on high Columns rais'd,
With burnish'd Gold and flaming Jewels blaz'd;
The Folding Gates diffus'd a Silver Light,
And with a milder Gleam refresh'd the Sight;
Of polish'd Iv'ry was the Cov'ring wrought:
The Matter vied not with the Sculptor's Thought,
For in the Portal was display'd on high
(The Work of Vulcan) a fictitious Sky;
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