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(And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,) Could those few pleasant hours again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart---the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.--- , But 10---what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Thus, as a gallant hark from Albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some well-havened 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 reached the shore, “ Where tempests never beat nor billows roar*,” And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life, long since, has anchored at thy side. / But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressedMe howling winds drive devious, tempest-tossed, Sails ript, seams opening wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course; But oh 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 enthroned, and rulers of the earth ; But higher far my proud pretensions rise--The son of parents passed into the skies. And now, farewell---time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine;
And while the wings of fancy still are free,
WHAT virtue or what mental grace
Will boast in their possession ?
And dulness of discretion.
If every polished gem we find,
Provoke to imitation;
Or rather constellation.
No knave but boldy will pretend
A real and a sound one,
fool he would deceive, But prove as ready to believe,
And dream that he had found one.
Candid, and generous, and just,
An error soon corrected---
Is most to be suspected ?
And taken trash for treasure,
An acquisition rather rare
Nor is it wise complaining,
We sought without attaining.
No friendship will abide the test,
Or mean self-love erected;
For vicious ends connected.
Who seek a friend, should come disposed To exhibit in full bloom disclosed
The graces and the beauties, That form the character he seeks, For 'tis an union that bespeaks
Mutual attention is implied,
And constantly supported;
Our own as much distorted.
But will sincerity suffice?
And must be made the basis ;
All shining in their places.
A fretful temper will divide
By ceaseless sharp corrosion ;
At one immense explosion.
In vain the talkative unite
The secret just committed
And by themselves outwitted.
How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
If envy chance to creep in;
But not a friend worth keeping.
As envy pines at good possessed,
On good, that seems approaching,
And hates him for encroaching.
Hence authors of illustrious name,
Are sadly prone to quarrel,
And pluck each other's laurel.
A man renowned for repartee
With friendship's finest feeling ;
By way of balm for healing.
Whoever keeps an open ear
The trumpet of contention;
And rush into dissention.
A Friendship, that in frequent fits
The sparks of disputation,
The thought of conflagration. /
Some fickle creatures boast a soul
Their humour yet so various---
Their love is so precarious.
The great and small but rarely meet
Plebians must surrender, -
Obscurity with splendour.
Some are so placid and serene
They sleep secure from waking ?
Unmoved and without quaking,
Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Without an effervescence,
A friendly coalescence.
Religion should extinguish strife,
But friends that chance to differ
No combatants are stiffer !