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Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt,
"Tis now become a history little known,
That once we called the pastoral house our own.
Short-lived possession! but the record fair,
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced,
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou mightest know me safe and warmly laid ;
My morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
Thy fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed :
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks,
That humour interposed too often makes;
All this still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,
Adds joy to dạty, makes me glad to pay
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here.

Could time, his flight reversed, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked 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 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. Thou, 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 riseThe 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, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

* Garth.

FRIENDSHIP.

What virtue or what mental grace
But men unqualified and base

Will boast in their possession ?
Profusion apes tbe noble part
Of liberality of heart,

And dulness of discretion.

If every polished 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 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 error 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 disposed To exhibit in full bloom disclosed

The graces and the beauties,
That form the character he seeks,
For ’tis an union that bespeaks

Reciprocated duties.
Matual attention is implied,
And equal truth on either side,

And constantly supported;
'Tis senseless arrogance to 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 every 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, VOL. II.

DD

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 its 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 dangerous foe indeed,

But not a friend worth keeping.
As envy pines at good possessed,
So jealousy looks forth distressed

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,
Upless 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 others laurel.
A man renowned 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.

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