 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
246
The Friends that I Loved.
1836.
The friends that I loved I love still—but no more
Those friends of my bosom illumine my door;
O! what can it be that has made them so cold,
Who bore me such love and affection of old?
Those friends of my bosom illumine my door;
O! what can it be that has made them so cold,
Who bore me such love and affection of old?
My soul is the same—by misfortune unbowed,
It pities the poor, it despises the proud;
And still are my feelings the same as of old;
O! what can it be that has made them so cold?
It pities the poor, it despises the proud;
And still are my feelings the same as of old;
O! what can it be that has made them so cold?
It is true that my visage is pallid and worn—
It is true that my garments are faded and torn—
And perhaps I'm so altered, they cannot descry
The man at whose table they feasted so high!
It is true that my garments are faded and torn—
And perhaps I'm so altered, they cannot descry
The man at whose table they feasted so high!
I was once of each party the life and the soul,
My sallies were voted as bright as my bowl;
And sometimes the reason I bitterly ask,
Why the wit left my head when the wine left my cask?
My sallies were voted as bright as my bowl;
And sometimes the reason I bitterly ask,
Why the wit left my head when the wine left my cask?
Well, mind them not, Ellen!—One friend I have still,
Who, kind in good fortune, is kinder in ill;
And whose smile, like a glimpse of the sun in a shower,
Can brighten Adversity's gloomiest hour!
Who, kind in good fortune, is kinder in ill;
And whose smile, like a glimpse of the sun in a shower,
Can brighten Adversity's gloomiest hour!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |