RIDDLES. 13°

Then, polish’d by the artist’s hands,
Tn wood I’m closely bound ;

And where fair learning calls her sons,
My ready help is found.

To me the sciences are known;
In Algebra I shine,

In Mathematics often deal,

‘ And make each problem mine.

To me the wisest heads submit,
The deepest scholars bend ;

And, though I neither read nor write,
I’m learning’s common friend,

Of neither sense nor love possess’d,
The strongest sense I aid ;

-_ Relieve the mem’ry of its load,

And ease the studious head,

Yet soon my knowledge is effaced,

_ And ev’ry trace is lost;

And oft again I’m filled with lore,
Nor feel the conscious boast.