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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 no---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 bark 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 distressed--Me 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,
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left./
WHAT virtue or what mental grace
And dulness of discretion.
If every polished gem we find,
No wonder friendship does the same,
No knave but boldy will pretend
And dream that he had found one.
Candid, and generous, and just,
An error soon corrected--
For who but learns in riper years,
But here again a danger lies,
An acquisition rather rare
No friendship will abide the test,
Who seek a friend, should come disposed
Mutual attention is implied,
'Tis senseless arrogance to accuse
Our own as much distorted.
But will sincerity suffice?
Must constitute the charming whole,
A fretful temper will divide
In vain the talkative unite
They drop through mere desire to prate,
How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
As envy pines at good possessed,
And hates him for encroaching.
Hence authors of illustrious name,
A man renowned for repartee
Whoever keeps an open ear
A Friendship, that in frequent fits
The sparks of disputation,
Like hand in hand insurance plates,
The thought of conflagration.
Some fickle creatures boast a soul
Their humour yet so various--
They manifest their whole life through The needle's deviations too,
Their love is so precarious.
The great and small but rarely meet
Some are so placid and serene
They sleep secure from waking?
Unmoved and without quaking,
Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Without an effervescence,
Like that of salts with lemon juice,
Religion should extinguish strife,