Jean Lafiate

In him inexplicably mix'd appear'd Much to be lov'd and hated, sought and fear'd. Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot, In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot; His silence form'd a theme for others' prate; They guess'd--they gaz'd--they fain would know his fate. What had he been? what was he, thus unknown, Who walk'd their world, his lineage only known? A hater of his kind? yet some would say, With them he could seem …

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