Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Not scorn'd in Heav'n, though little notic'd here. I prick'd them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart-the dear delight That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd) Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore, Where tempests never beat nor billows roar, And thy lov'd consort on the dang❜rous tide Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distress'dMe howling blasts drives devious, tempest-toss'd, Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosp❜rouse course. Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he! 'That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions riseThe son of parents pass'd into the skies. And now, farewell-Time unrevok'd has run His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem'd t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again; * Garth. To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine; And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimick show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theftThyself remov'd, thy pow'r to soothe me left. FRIENDSHIP. WHAT virtue, or what mental grace, And dulness of discretion. If every polish'd gem we find, No wonder friendship does the same, No knave but boldly will pretend And dream that he had found one. Candid, and generous, and just, Boys care but little whom they trust, An errour soon corrected For who but learns in riper years, That man, when smoothest he appears, But here again a danger lies, An acquisition rather rare No friendship will abide the test, For vicious ends connected. Who seek a friend should come dispos'd, T'exhibit in full bloom disclos'd The graces and the beauties, That form the character be seeks, Reciprocated duties, |