Each wayward passion soon would tear
His bosom, now so void of care:
And, when they left his ebbing vein,
What, but insipid age, remain ?
Then mourn not the decrees of fate,
That gave his life so short a date;
And I will join thy tenderest sighs,
To think that youth so swiftly flies!
Let the great man his treasures possessing,
Pomp and splendour for ever attend:
I prize not the shadowy blessing,
I ask-the affectionate friend.
Tho' foibles may sometimes o'ertake him,
His footsteps from wisdom depart;
Yet, my spirit shall never forsake him,
If he own the affectionate heart.
Affection! thou soother of care,
Without thee unfriended we rove;
Thou can'st make e'en the desert look fair,
And thy voice is the voice of the dove.
'Mid the anguish that preys on the breast, And the storms of mortality's state;
What shall lull the afflicted to rest,
But the joys that on sympathy wait?
What is fame, bidding envy defiance,
The idol and bane of mankind;
What is wit, what is learning or science,
To the heart that is stedfast and kind?
Even genius may weary the sight,
By too fierce, and to constant a blaze; But affection, mild planet of night! Grows lovelier the longer we gaze.
It shall thrive when the flattering forms, That encircle creation decay;
It shall live 'mid the wide wasting storms, That bear all undistinguish'd away.
When Time, at the end of his race,
Shall expire with expiring mankind;
It shall stand on its permanent base!
It shall last till the wreck of the mind.
Time ambition's nest destroy,
Though on a rock 'tis perch'd so high,
May find dull av'rice in his cave,
And drag to light the sordid slave;
But from affection's temper'd chain
To free the heart he strives in vain.
The sculptur'd urn, the marble bust,
By time are crumbled with the dust;
But tender thoughts the muse has twin'd
For love, for friendship's brow design'd,
Shall still endure, shall still delight,
Till time is lost in endless night.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.
Celia and I the other day
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea:
The setting sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost:
And on the surface of the deep,
The winds lay only not asleep:
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.
But, oh the change! the winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars;
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head and wings her flight:
And trembling vows, she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore or view the main,
Once more at least, look back, said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good humour drest;
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
'Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.
But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
When the big lip and watery eye
Tell me, the rising storm is nigh;
'Tis then, thou art yon angry main,
Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain;
And the poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labours less then I.
Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make, While love and fate still drive me back : Forc'd to doat on thee thy own way,
I chide thee first, and then obey.
Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh, I with thee, or without thee, die.
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