Metrical Effusions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Susan, in friendship's social hour,
Perchance for want of better themes,
We've scann'd the deeds of those in power,
And argued on their various schemes.

Of Whigs and Tories, ins and outs,
Of this or that administration;
We've own'd our fears, our hopes, and doubts,
From which the state might hope salvation.

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Nor did our converse lack the zest
Which different principles could give;
A Tory thou, and I confest
As staunch a Whig as e'er could live.

Oft, when to censure Pitt I've dar'd
In sober truth, or playful mirth,
How zealously hast thou declar'd
His matchless powers, his peerless worth.

By me the Statesman's fame and power
Unheeded shone, though bright their blaze;
But I must own, at such an hour,
I've almost envied him thy praise.

For, trust me, Susan, the esteem
And homage of a heart like thine;
My partial taste must ever deem
A source of pleasure half divine.

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Let Whigs and Tories vent their spite
In endless feuds; still unimpair'd,
Our friendship shall afford delight,
And social joys be duly shar'd.

Be thy opinions wholly wrong,
Thy actions might their faults redeem;
Thy virtues still must claim my song,
While gratitude supplies a theme.

An hour there was, when doom'd to brave
Affliction's stormy billowy ocean,
I look'd for death in every wave,
Alone! amid the wild commotion.

At that dread hour, when all around
Confess'd stern horror's ruthless sway,
When not one glimpse of hope was found,
And fancy's meteors ceas'd to play;

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Thy friendship, like some favouring star
Emerging from the clouds of night,
In gentlest splendour beaming far,
First caught my trembling, doubtful sight.

And still, as wistfully I gaz'd,
The scatter'd clouds methought withdrew;
'Till silent, raptur'd and amaz'd,
A tranquil morning blest my view.

The howling winds, which through the night
In angry gusts my bark had driven,
Now sunk, and with returning light
Returning strength and peace were given.

And can I cease to prize that light
Which shone when all beside was dark?
Which cheer'd misfortune's gloomy night—
The polar star which sav'd my bark?

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No, no, secure from all decay
Thy virtues live; and, right or wrong,
Be thy opinions which they may,
Still thou shalt claim my grateful song.

And though I fear I still must be
A Whig, and in the name must glory;
So warm my friendship, that, for thee,
I would, but cannot, be a Tory!