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TO A GENTLEMAN, WHO SHED TEARS IN COMPANY ON THE INTELLIGENCE THAT A FRIEND HAD DIED AT SEA OF A FRENZY FEVER.
  
  
  
  
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148

TO A GENTLEMAN, WHO SHED TEARS IN COMPANY ON THE INTELLIGENCE THAT A FRIEND HAD DIED AT SEA OF A FRENZY FEVER.

1780.

O Blest! (though Apathy may boast the power
Of unmov'd features in the trying hour)
Blest be the tribute of those tears, that start
From Friendship's eye, the mirrors of the heart!
And ah! may he, whose vainly-social soul,
(Unheeding as it riots o'er the bowl)
With not a whisper from Reflection, hears
“How droop'd the spirit and the bloom of years;
“Sudden the victims of the oblivious grave—
“The shrivel'd corse—its winding-sheet a wave;”
May he, despis'd by all the feeling, live,
‘Nor taste one favour that the muse can give!’
For thee, who oft when Sorrow's form appears,
Dost melt with female weakness into tears,

156

Though grinning Folly thy repose invade,
Pity shall veil thee in her softest shade;
Shall love thy sigh, when from his country torn,
Amid the murmurs of the deep forlorn,
Without one friend thy lost companion lies,
Without one friend to soothe him ere he dies!
Shall love thy tear, when not a star's dim light
Twinkles across the darkness of his night!
Pity shall tremble, as before thee glow
All the wild visions of severest woe;
As Frenzy, scowling on his short quick breath,
Hurries the fever of his brain to death;
As the lone spirit leaves its struggling clay,
And the last pangs of anguish faint away!
P.