SONNET TO A FRIEND

(End of 1796)

Friend of my earliest years and childish days, My joys, my sorrows, thou with me hast shar'd Companion dear, and we alike have far'd (Poor pilgrims we) thro' life's unequal ways. It were unwisely done, should we refuse To cheer our path as featly as we may, Our lonely path to cheer, as trav'llers use, With merry song, quaint tale, or roundelay; And we will sometimes talk past troubles o'er, Of mercies shewn, and all our sickness heal'd, And in his judgments God rememb'ring love; And we will learn to praise God evermore, For those glad tidings of great joy reveal'd By that sooth Messenger sent from above.

TO A YOUNG LADY

(Early, 1797)

Hard is the heart that does not melt with ruth, When care sits, cloudy, on the brow of youth; When bitter griefs the female bosom swell, And Beauty meditates a fond farewell To her lov'd native land, prepar'd to roam, And seek in climes afar the peace denied at home. The Muse, with glance prophetic, sees her stand (Forsaken, silent lady) on the strand Of farthest India, sick'ning at the roar Of each dull wave, slow dash'd upon the shore; Sending, at intervals, an aching eye O'er the wide waters, vainly, to espy The long-expected bark, in which to find Some tidings of a world she left behind. At such a time shall start the gushing tear, For scenes her childhood lov'd, now doubly dear. At such a time shall frantic mem'ry wake Pangs of remorse, for slighted England's sake; And for the sake of many a tender tie Of love, or friendship, pass'd too lightly by. Unwept, unhonour'd, 'midst an alien race, And the cold looks of many a stranger face, How will her poor heart bleed, and chide the day, That from her country took her far away.