 | Poems |  |
17
TO MISS---
On her leaving the Country.
1
Adieu—and when in distance straying,By thought, sad relict, solely guided;
When 'midst those scenes, new charms displaying,
That thought shall waft to friends divided:
2
Oh! from the throng, select one dear one,With him—to share fair Memory's shrine:
His heart, oh, deem it a sincere one—
And know, in friendship it is thine!
18
3
The pangs of grief have prov'd his soul,Estrang'd to Passion's wild career:
It owns no pulse's mad controul—
It heaves and sheds—nor sigh nor tear!
4
The gem it drops, is Pity's dew—Wrung from a mine of feeling flame:
Which presence long will temper true—
And absence ever prove the same!
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