Poems | ||
THACKERAY.
Your own home heard our Fielding call you friend;Here you have found what welcome in his home,
Have chatted with him of your hours in Rome,
Your Paris days, till night almost had end.
What light to the charm'd hours you've seen him lend!
What priceless memories over the far foam
You bear! what flashes to illume your home,
That mirth through all your future days shall send,
Drawn from the nights 'twas yours with him to see!
How you are stored with laughs for all your years!
His wit, his wisdom, shall your fellows be
With time, with time, who, as he flies, endears
Such gifts divine of gracious memory;
What wit more wise has charm'd all living ears!
Poems | ||