Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears. - Thomas Gray

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, He had not the method of making a fortune.

One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.