 | Sonnets |  |
XVII
TO A FRIEND.
Dear------, from those far eastern climes,Over whose border I was hovering,
Once, as an eagle, whose uncertain wing
Turns backward from the Danube, and sublimes
His flight into a vision, scenes and times
Of travel-quickened thought to ours you bring;
Leading us by the Terek's Lesghian spring;
I, nothing in return can give, but rhymes.
But yet in these, o'erpassing time and tide,
Your name to Casbeck's spirit I commend;
To write it as a stream on his gaunt side,
Whose joyous southern windings may descend
To Teflis, or that sea by which abide,
Rivalling his, the shades of Demavend.
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