WHEN first the Friendship-flower is planted Within the garden of your soul,
Little of care or thought are wanted To guard its beauty fresh and whole; But when the one empassion'd age Has full reveal'd the magic bloom, A wise and holy tutelage
Alone can shun the open tomb.
It is not absence you should dread,— For absence is the very air
In which, if sound at root, the head Shall wave most wonderful and fair; With sympathies of joy and sorrow Fed, as with morn and even dews, Ideal colouring it borrow Richer than ever earthly hues.
But oft the plant, whose leaves unsere Refresh the desert, hardly brooks
The common-peopled atmosphere
Of daily thoughts, and words, and looks; It trembles at the brushing wings
Of many a careless fashion-fly, And strange suspicions aim their stings To taint it as they wanton by.
Rare is the heart to bear a flower, That must not wholly fall and fade, Where alien feelings, hour by hour, Spring up, beset, and overshade; Better, a child of care and toil, To glorify some needy spot, Than in a glad redundant soil To pine neglected and forgot.
Yet when, at last, by human slight, Or close of their permitted day, From the sweet world of life and light Such find creations lapse away,- Bury the relics that retain
Sick odours of departed pride,- Hoard as ye will your memory's gain, But let them perish where they died.
Acquaintance I would have, but when t' depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends.
WHAT virtue, or what mental grace, 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 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, 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 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 seeks a friend should come disposed, To exhibit in full bloom disclosed
The graces and the beauties,
That form the character he seeks, For 'tis a union, that bespeaks
Reciprocated duties.
Mutual 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,
It 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, 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,
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