« ПретходнаНастави »
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorn’d in Heav'n, though little notic'd here.
Could Time, his flight revers’d, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissu'd flow'rs,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
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, (here?
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them
I would not trust my heart - the dear delight
Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might.
But no what here we call our life is such,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
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'd
Me howling blasts drive 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'rous 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 rise -
The 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 t have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
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 mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft -
Thyself remov d, thy pow'r to soothe me left.
WHAT Virtue, or what mental
But men unqualified and base
Will boast it their possession ?
Profusion apes the noble part
Of liberality of heart,
And dulness of discretion.
If every polish'd gem we find
Illuminating heart or mind,
Provoke to imitation ;
No wonder friendship does the same
That jewel of the purest flame,
Or rather constellation.
No knave but boldly will pretend
The requisites that form a friend,
A real and a sound one;
Nor any fool, he would deceive,
But prove as ready to believe,
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,
Is most to be suspected ?
But here again a danger lies,
Lest, having misapplied our eyes,
And taken trash for treasure,
We should unwarily conclude
Friendship a false ideal good,
A mere Utopian pleasure.
An acquisition rather rare
Is yet no subject of despair ;
Nor is it wise complaining,
If either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found,
We sought without attaining.
No friendship will abide the test,
That stands on sordid interest,
Or mean self-love erected;
Nor such as may awhile subsist,
Between the sot and sensualist,
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 he seeks, For 't is a union, that bespeaks
Mutual attention is implied,
And equal truth on either side,
And constantly supported :
'Tis senseless arrogance t'accuse
Another of sinister views,
Our own as much distorted.
But will sincerity suffice?
It is indeed above all price,
And must be made the basis;
But ev'ry virtue of the soul
Must constitute the charming whole,
All shining in their places.
A fretful temper will divide
The closest knot that may be tied,
By ceaseless sharp corrosion ;
A temper passionate and fierce
May suddenly your joys disperse
At one immense explosion.
In vain the talkative unite
In hopes of permanent delight -
The secret just committed,
Forgetting it's important weight,
They drop through mere desire to prate,
And by themselves outwitted.
How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
All thoughts of friendship are but dreams,
If envy chance to creep in;
An envious man, if you succeed,
May prove a dang’rous foe indeed,
But not a friend worth keeping.
As envy pines at good possess’d,
So jealousy looks forth distress'd
On good, that seems approaching;
And, if success his steps attend,
Discerns a rival in a friend,
And hates him for encroaching.
Hence authors of illustrious name,
Unless belied by common fame,
Are sadly prone to quarrel,
To deem the wit a friend displays
A tax upon their own just praise,
And pluck each other's laurel
A man renown'd for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free
With friendship's finest feeling;
Will thrust a dagger at your breast,
And say he wounded you in jest,
By way of balm for healing.