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Yet een round childhood's heart, a thoughtless shrine, Affection's little thread will ever twine ;

30 And though but frail may seem each tender tie, The soul foregoes them, but with many a sigh. Thus, when the long-expected moment came, When forced to leave the gentle-hearted dame, Reluctant throbbings rose within my breast,

35 And a still tear my silent grief express'd. When to the public school compell’d to go, What novel scenes did on my senses flow! There in each breast each active

power dilates, Which broils whole nations, and convulses states; 40 There reign by turns alternate, love and hate, Ambition burns, and factious rebels prate; And in a smaller range, a smaller sphere, The dark deformities of man appear. Yet there the gentler virtues kindred claim, 45 There Friendship lights her pure untainted flame, There mild Benevolence delights to dwell, And sweet Contentment rests without her cell; And there, 'mid many a stormy soul, we find The good of heart, the intelligent of mind.

50 'Twas there, O George! with thee I learn'd to join In Friendship's bands-in amity divine. Oh, mournful thought ! - Where is thy spirit now? As here I sit on favourite Logar's brow, And trace below each well-remember'd glade, 55 Where, arm in arm, erewhile with thee I stray'd. Where art thou laid? On what untrodden shore, Where nought is heard save ocean's sullen roar, Dost thou, in lowly, unlamented state, At last repose from all the storms of fate?

60 Methinks I see thee struggling with the wave, Without one aiding hand stretched out to save;

See thee convulsed, thy looks to heaven bend,
And send thy parting sigh unto thy friend;
Or where immeasurable wilds dismay,

65
Forlorn and sad thou bend'st thy weary way,
While sorrow and disease with anguish rife,
Consume apace the ebbing springs of life.
Again I see his door against thee shut,
The unfeeling native turn thee from bis hut; 70
I see thee spent with toil, and worn with grief,
Sit on the grass, and wish the long'd relief;
Then lie thee down, the stormy struggle o'er,
Think on thy native land—and rise no more!

Oh! that thou could'st, from thine august abode, 75 Survey thy friend in life's dismaying road, That thou couldst see him at this moment here, Embalm thy memory with a pious tear, And hover o'er him as he gazes round, Where all the scenes of infant joys surround. 80

Yes! yes ! his spirit's near!- The whispering breeze Conveys his voice sad sighing on the trees; And lo! his form transparent I perceive, Borne on the gray mist of the sullen eve : He hovers near, clad in the night's dim robe, 85 While deathly silence reigns upon the globe. Yet, ah! whence comes this visionary scene? 'Tis Fancy's wild aërial dream I ween; By her inspired, when reason takes its flight, What fond illusions beam upon the sight!

90 She waves her hand, and lo! what forins appear! What magic sounds salute the wondering ear! Once more o’er distant regions do we tread, And the cold grave yields up its cherish'd dead:

95 While present sorrow 's banish'd far away, Unclouded azure gilds the placid day,

Or in the future's cloud-encircled face,
Fair scenes of bliss to come we fondly trace,
And draw minutely every little wile,
Which shall the feathery hours of time beguile. 100

So when forlorn and lonesome at her gate,
The Royal Mary solitary sate,
And view'd the moon-beam trembling on the wave,
And heard the hollow surge her prison lave,
Towards France's distant coast she bent her sight, 105
For there her soul had wing'd its longing flight;
There did she form full many a scheme of joy,
Visions of bliss unclouded with alloy,
Which bright through Hope's deceitful optics beam'd,
And all became the surety which it seem'd ;

110 She wept, yet felt, while all within was calm, In

every tear a melancholy charm.

To yonder hill, whose sides, deform’d and steep,
Just yield a scanty sust'nance to the sheep,
With thee, my friend, I oftentimes have sped,

115
To see the sun rise from his healthy bed;
To watch the aspect of the summer morn,
Smiling upon the golden fields of corn,
And taste delighted of superior joys,
Beheld through Sympathy's enchanted eyes : 120
With silent admiration oft we view'd
The myriad hues o'er heaven's blue concave strew'd;
The fleecy clouds, of every tint and shade,
Round which the silvery sun-beam glancing play'd,
And the round orb itself, in azure throne,

125 Just peeping o'er the blue hill's ridgy zone: We mark'd delighted, how, with aspect gay, Reviving Nature hail'd returning day; Mark'd how the flowerets rear'd their drooping heads, And the wild lambkins bounded o'er the meads, 130

.

While from each tree in tones of sweet delight,
The birds sung pæans to the source of light:
Oft have we watch'd the speckled lark arise,
Leave his grass bed, and soar to kindred skies,
And rise, and rise, till the pain'd sight no more 135
Could trace him in his high aërial tour;
Though on the ear, at intervals, his song
Came wafted slow the wavy breeze along;
And we have thought how happy were our lot,
Bless'd with some sweet, some solitary cot,

140 Where, from the peep of day, till russet eve Began in

every

dell her forms to weave, We might pursue our sports from day to day And in each other's arm's wear life away.

At sultry noon too, when our toils were done, 145
We to the gloomy glen were wont to run;
There on the turf we lay, while at our feet
The cooling rivulet rippled softly sweet;
And mused on holy theme, and ancient lore,
Of deeds, and days, and heroes now no more ;

150
Heard, as his solemn harp Isaiah swept,
Sung woe unto the wicked land—and wept ;
Or, fancy-led-saw Jeremiah mourn
In solemn sorrow o'er Judea's urn.
Then to another shore perhaps would rove,
With Plato talk in his Illyssian grove;
Or, wandering where the Thespian palace rose,
Weep once again o'er fair Jocasta's woes.

Sweet then to us was that romantic band,
The ancient legends of our native land-

160
Chivalric Britomart, and Una fair,
And courteous Constance, doom'd to dark despair,
By turns our thoughts engaged ; and oft we talk'd
Of times when monarch Superstition stalk'd,

155

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And when the blood-fraught galliots of Rome 165
Brought the grand Druid fabric to its doom:
While, where the wood-hung Meinai's waters flow,
The hoary harpers pour'd the strain of woe.

While thus employ'd, to us how sad the bell
Which summon’d us to school! 'Twas fancy's

knell,
And, sadly sounding on the sullen ear,

171
It spoke of study pale, and chilling fear.
Yet even then, (for oh! what chains can bind,
What powers control, the energies of mind!)
Even then we soar’d to many a height sublime, 175
And many a day-dream charm'd the lazy time.

At evening, too, how pleasing was our walk,
Endear'd by Friendship's unrestrained talk !
When to the upland heights we bent our way,
To view the last beam of departing day;

180
How calm was all around ! no playful breeze
Sigh'd 'mid the wavy foliage of the trees,
But all was still, save when, with drowsy song,
The gray-fly wound his sullen horn along;
And save when, heard in soft, yet merry glee,

185
The distant church-bells' mellow harmony;
The silver mirror of the lucid brook,
That ʼmid the tufted broom its still course took;
The rugged arch that clasp'd its silent tides,
With moss and rank weeds hanging down its sides:
The craggy rock, that jutted on the sight; 191
The shrieking bat, that took its heavy flight:
All, all was pregnant with divine delight.
We loved to watch the swallow swimming high
In the bright azure of the vaulted sky;

195
Or gaze upon the clouds, whose colour'd pride
Was scatter'd thiply o'er the welkin wide,

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