University of Virginia Library

TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND THOMAS BRIGSTOCK.

Dear lost companion of my earliest joys!
If lingering yet thy spirit haunt the fields,
Where blithesome once we stray'd, and young in care,
Thou see'st me still unchanged; this mindful heart
From all the pomp and turmoil of the world
Still faithful turns to thee; and oft retires,
In the dark covert of some aged grove,
Solitary, to muse with sad regret,
What time the nightingale in shady brake
(Where the low hazel or the tangled thorn
Veils her from vulgar eye) with querulous note
Warbles her love. And soothing is her lay
To one, who mindful of departed joy
Grieves placid, at the shadowy fall of eve
Marking the ruddy light that fades away,
And the still moonbeam steal with chaster hue
Over the leafy glades. Oft from the crowd
Withdrawing thoughtful, when the setting sun
Skirted the western clouds with varied light,
Unseen we gazed upon the goodly forms
Of smiling nature! Sometimes, when the year
Put forth its budding charms, we loved to mark
The pale anemone, that softly rear'd
Its modest head beneath the leafless brake,
Herald of coming spring. Then as we saw
The year roll slowly on, breathing new sweets,
And opening to our view the fresh delight
Of shade and pasture, bloom and luscious fruit,
Led by delusive rapture oft we stretch'd
Our anxious thoughts into the viewless maze
Of that wide world, through which our journey lay
Doubtful and distant; now with sorrow dark,
Now gilded with bright hopes and fancy gay.
But ever, as I mark'd the secret hand
Of baneful sickness, slow and unrestrain'd,
Prey on thine alter'd form, (which late had glow'd
With beauty and with strength above thy peers)
A bodeful tear would rush into mine eyes;
And a wild thought would beat against my heart,
That life's eventful journey must be trod
Without that loved companion, whom my soul
Had chosen in the guileless hour of youth;
Who should with me have stretch'd the towering wing
E'en to Ambition's height; and should (if ere
Propitious Fortune smiled) have shared the meed
Of that fair fame, we panted to deserve.
Thy lamp soon wasted; it had burnt too bright,
And sunder'd the frail tenement of life,
That shrouded its pure beams. O! thou art gone;
Thy grave has long been strewn; and those, who erst
Sported with thee in youth or turn'd the page
Of infant learning, have well nigh forgot
That once thou wert, and did'st in all excel.
But never from this breast, this mindful soul,
Shall pass thine image, which is graven there
With friendship's first impression; nor the thought
Of those delightful days, when life was new,
And we together cull'd its budding sweets
Careless of coming wo. But ne'er for thee
Pale sorrow spread her melancholy board;
Thou ne'er didst taste of grief. The tender down
Of manhood scarce had tinged thy blooming cheek,
When the cold hand of all-consuming Death
Nipp'd thy fair promise. Thou didst never learn
The treachery of joy, the loss of friends,
The pangs of hapless love: thy glowing heart
Imagined days of rapture, fondly dream'd
Of more than mortal charms; nor ever waked
To wipe fell sorrow's tear. For few are they,
Whose earliest fancy crowns their days with joy;
But oft through wo, and anguish, and despair,
Man wanders to the port of tranquil bliss.
Thou didst not hear the deadly cry of France,
Which, like the crash of an upbreaking world,
Appall'd all Europe, from the utmost bound
Of Finisterre to Moscow's forests hoar,
And shook old Ocean's reign; thou didst not see
The impious Fiend of democratic war
Let loose its havoc, tearing from their base
The monuments of power, the massive seats
Of ancient empire and religious sway;
Thou didst not mark from every mangled realm
The pang of horror vibrate to the heart
Of thy dear country; else the piteous groan
Of sullied Freedom and dismember'd states
Had rung e'en to thy soul. For thou wast kind
In nature, and thy breast would throb to hear
Of high achievements, and the valor old
Of chiefs recorded in historic page,
Who by fair deeds and honorable strife
Upheld our England's fame. Therefore I deem,
Though torn untimely from our fond embrace,
Thee blest above thy peers; whose sleep of death
(Ere fate had dealt one night of restless wo)
Stole unperceived on thy delighted youth.