Desultory Thoughts in London Titus and Gisippus, with Other Poems. By Charles Lloyd |
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LINES ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. |
 | Desultory Thoughts in London |  |
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LINES ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
Written August, 1820.
1
And shall such worth as thine from hence depart,Nor thy friend shed one tributary tear?
When first th' intelligence smote on my heart,
That thou wert gone, how many a parted year
Of early life, before me did appear
In long array, in whose events, kind friend,
As they conduc'd my heart to grieve or cheer,
Thou still didst sympathize; most prompt to blend
Interest with aught that did my weal or woe portend.
2
Thine was a heart of genuine sterling worth;Few have supported through life's varied scene
A soul, in which aught of terrestrial birth
Less dimm'd the light, aspiring, yet serene,
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Shed an attractive brightness! Tho' from blame
Of all pollution, thou wert ever clean
In a voluptuous age, in thee the flame
Of charity still glow'd for faults known but in name.
3
I well remember, when, in ardent youth,I strove for that, for which 'tis only given,
'Stead of possessing, to obtain, in truth,
Experience, that 'tis vain for it to have striven,
Anticipation on this earth of heaven!
Except, indeed, that, so far, men may say
A noble trust ne'er to despair was driven,
As since when souls hopes of perfection sway,
Though they be baffled all, those hopes themselves repay!
4
I well remember, how, with mind less proneTo visionary thought, with smile benign,
When, with sincerity, thou could'st not own
My warm heart's speech conviction wrought on thine,
To hear me thou didst patiently incline:—
Howe'er fallacious, if a lofty feeling,
Tho' gendering weakest argument, did shrine
Itself in my frank utterance, how, stealing
From thee, I caught a smile, encouragement revealing!
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5
Many the hours that I have pass'd with theeIn pleasant converse, when, in youth's warm prime,
My soul, in ardent immaturity,
On the experience of a riper time
Too much presum'd: and when to the sublime
Of human feeling public measures tended;
When a new æra on this world of crime
Seem'd to be dawning, my crude thoughts how mended,
Issued from thy calm lips with deeper reason blended.
6
But though in goodness thou excelledst most,And in thy sphere wert parallel'd by few
In intellect, thy path of life was cross'd
By untoward accidents of many a hue,
Many of these such as could ne'er accrue
To vulgar souls! Tho' both from natural gifts,
And acquir'd knowledge, thou might'st hope to view
Others to thee subordinate, yet shifts
Fortune from thy career, and those beneath thee lifts.
7
Oft wert thou visited with pale disease,Nor didst thou totally escape th' assault
Of mental agony! The pleasant breeze,
That, without leisure, or desire, to halt
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Of th' empyrean, rather than on earth
Did urge a cumbrous load, not for thy fault,
But for thy sorrow, friend! ne'er call'd to birth,
From thy still wrestling heart, pæans of thankful mirth.
8
Harder to bear than pomp of tragic wrong,And all the woes whence the romantic page
Is swell'd with incident whence interests strong
The sympathies of other men engage
In our calamities, is it to wage
A never-ceasing, tho' a petty war,
With spirit-fretting troubles! Heritage
Of greater potency, all hope to bar,
And withering more the soul, since more its powers they mar,
9
Than the sublime of evil! conjuring oftAntagonist sublimity of soul;
As I had rather, from some rock aloft,
Look down where ocean's waves tumultuous roll,
Than in some squalid haunt feel the controul
Of jarring sounds, and sights undignified,
So had I rather feel, that with my whole
And entire being, I were justified
In warring with my lot, than pine o'er its dimm'd pride!
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10
Farewel! In strictest truth I may assertThy loss has left a chasm within my heart!
And when, in future, memory may revert
To those familiar scenes which did impart
Life's dearest impulses, since those of art
The most devoid, thou still shalt be my guest,
A spectral image, shrin'd in holiest part
Of my imagination, and my breast,
Heaving with sighs, shall oft thine unseen sway attest.
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