As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, and love only, is the loar for love. A friend, but what has found a friend in thee: What if (since daring on so nice a theme) 555 560 Reserve will wound it, and distrust destroy. Deliberate on all things with thy friend : But since friends grow not thick on every bough First on thy friend deliberate with thyself; 565 Pause, ponder, sift; not eager in the choice, 570 So sung he (angels hear that angel sing. Angels from friendship gather half their joy) So sung Philander, as his friend went round In the rich ichor, in the generous blood 575 Of Bacchus, purple god of joyous wit, A brow solute, and ever laughing eye. He drank long health and virtue to his friend; 580 His friend! who warm'd him more, who more inspired. Friendship's the wine of life; but frienaship new (Not such was his) is neither strong nor pure. O for the bright complexion, cordial warmih, And elevating spirit of a friend, 595 For twenty summers ripening by my side; All feculence of falsehood long thrown down, All social virtues rising in his soul, As crystal clear, and smiling as they rise! Itere nectar flows; it sparkles in our sight: g? Think'st thou the theme intoxicates my song Am I too warm?--Too warm I cannot be. I loved him much, but now I love him more. Like birds, whose beauties languish, half conceal'd, Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes Es panded, shine with azure, green, and gold; 590 595 How blessings brighten as they take their fight! GOO What friends might flatter, prudent foes forbear, CO5 To quench a glory lighted at the skies, And cast in shadows his illustrious clown. Strange the theme most affecting, most subline, 610 615 By inortal hand; it merits a divine : Dare I presume, then? but Philander bids, And glory tempts, and inclination calls. 620 Yet am I struck, as struck the soul beneath Or in some mighty ruin's solemn shade, Or gazing, by pale lamps, ou highborn dust In vaults, thin courts of poor unflatter'd kings, 625 Or at the midnight altar's hallow'd flame. And enter, awed, the ten pie of my theme. Is it his deathbed? No; it is his shrine. Behold him there just rising to a god. The chamber where the good man meets his fato Is privileged beyond the common walk Through Life's grimace that mistress of the scene! You see the man, you see his hold on Heaven, If sound his virtue, as Philander's sound. 630 635 640 Heaven waits not the last moment; owns her friends On this side death, and points them out to men; 646 A lecture silent, but of sovereign power! To Vice confusion, and to Virtue peace. Whatever farce the boastful hero plays, And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns. G50 A wrench from all we love! from all we are. 655 A restless bed of pain! a plunge opaque 659 And, oh the last, the last; what? (can words express, Thought reach it?) the last-silence of a friend!' Like the stars struggling through this midnight glooin) Richer than Mammon's for his single heir. 670 How our hearts burn'd within us at the scene 675 Whence this brave bound o'er limits fix'd to man? His God sustains him in his final hour! His final hour brings glory to his God! Man's glory Heaven vouchsafes to call her own. As some tall tower, or lofty mountain's brow, At that black hour which general horror sheds Sweet peace, and heavenly hope, and humble joy 635 690 NIGHT III. Narcissa. TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF PORTLAND. Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere manes. VIRG. FROM dreams, where thought in Fancy's maze runs mad, To Reason, that heaven-lighted lamp in man, Once more I wake; and at the destined hour, Punctual as lovers to the moment sworn, I keep my assignation with my woe. O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 10 Now woo them, wed them, bind them to thy breast: 15 To win thy wish creation has no more : Or if we wish a fourth, it is a friend. But friends how mortal! dangerous the desire. Take Phoebus to yourselves, ye basking bards! Inebriate at fair Fortune's fountain head, 20 |