University of Virginia Library

An EPISTLE to a FRIEND,

FROM THE COUNTRY.

When Nature's scenes with pleasing eye I view,
My tender thought turns, fav'rite friend, on you;
Friend of my youth, whose sympathetic soul,
Sway'd by soft friendship's genuine controul,
Has bid for me the tear in sorrow flow,
Has sigh'd responsive to the tale of woe,
And felt for me joys fascinating glow.
Far from my friend I mourn my absent lot,
And ease my bosom with indulgent thought,
The aid of fancy my fond breast employs,
To trace our pleasures and our youthful joys;
Our happy studies and our warm disputes,
Our curious plans and wandering pursuits;
When led by fancy's wild and fairy dreams,
Well pleased we ponder'd o'er some secret schemes.
Honor and fame then swell'd each friendly breast,
And fondest hope has lull'd them into rest,
When learning pour'd her lofty strains along
We each have listen'd to her soaring song;
Have fondly smil'd and thought the maid our own,
And dwelt in science and in Greek alone.
Oft when we wander'd o'er the distant plain;
We talked of Homer's grand majestic strain:
We said how sweet the gentle Maro sung,
What copious music warbled from his tongue.
Sweet flowing Pope hath also claim'd our praise,
As we oft listen'd to his soothing lays;
Dropt a sad tear at Eloisa's doom
And heav'd a sigh o'er his Maria's tomb.
Oft have we paus'd o'er Thompson's lively scenes,
And cast our eyes o'er Nature's flowing greens.
When he described the Thames' murmuring flow,
We thought we heard some plaintive stream below.
The youthful D---s has our praise employ'd,
His patriot prologue we have oft enjoyed;
We read his strains and thought, with pleas'd surprise,
A ripening Pope would in Columbia rise.
Sweet to the youth is fancy's syren dreams,
Sweet to his thought imagination's schemes;
The present time they pleasingly employ,
And warm the soul with visionary joy:
Far from my friend no more on these we dwell,
No more these dictates of our bosom tell;
No more conversing with my friend I rove,
Along the valley and the cooling grove—
The trees which hover o'er the rocky cave,
The loud hoarse murmur of old Hudson's wave,
The verdant vales which strike the wand'ring sight,
The tow'ring mountain's grand majestic height.
The gale which whispers thro' the quiv'ring trees,
Have partly lost their charms to sooth and please:
Friendship, these scenes of rural life endears,
Greener the valley in her sight appears.