 | The rural muse poems |  |
174
TO AN EARLY FRIEND.
Thou'st been to me a friend indeed,
I've proved it long ago;
I once did kindness deeply need,
And thou did'st thine bestow;
And shall my bosom be its grave,
That proved thy help divine?
No! one return true worth shall have,
Though ill requiting thine.
I've proved it long ago;
I once did kindness deeply need,
And thou did'st thine bestow;
And shall my bosom be its grave,
That proved thy help divine?
No! one return true worth shall have,
Though ill requiting thine.
When some were coy, and fear'd to praise,
Thine fearlessly was given;
Thy smile that cheer'd my early lays,
Was like a smile from Heaven.
When lone I droop'd in drear distress,
From pride and scoffers rude,
Thy helping hand was held to bless—
I took it and pursued.
Thine fearlessly was given;
Thy smile that cheer'd my early lays,
Was like a smile from Heaven.
When lone I droop'd in drear distress,
From pride and scoffers rude,
Thy helping hand was held to bless—
I took it and pursued.
Thy praise did drooping hopes renew,
That shrunk from feared disdain;
And joys like blossoms hung with dew,
Held up their heads again;
Thy friendship met my heart as such,
Whence heart-felt joys ensue,
Nor have they been the world's so much,
To prophesy untrue.
That shrunk from feared disdain;
And joys like blossoms hung with dew,
Held up their heads again;
Thy friendship met my heart as such,
Whence heart-felt joys ensue,
Nor have they been the world's so much,
To prophesy untrue.
175
I prove thee now as none of those
Too often proved before,
That promise peace, with hopeless woes
To disappoint the more.
As sun-beams in a winter's sky
Smile warm, and chill again;
These rude pretenders flirted by
With promise void and vain.
Too often proved before,
That promise peace, with hopeless woes
To disappoint the more.
As sun-beams in a winter's sky
Smile warm, and chill again;
These rude pretenders flirted by
With promise void and vain.
I have been teased with many a form
Of friendship idly told,
Intruding language uttered warm,
And soon as uttered—cold;
Hope's blighted blossoms have been mine,
And these to many fall;
But I have met and found in thine,
A recompense for all.
Of friendship idly told,
Intruding language uttered warm,
And soon as uttered—cold;
Hope's blighted blossoms have been mine,
And these to many fall;
But I have met and found in thine,
A recompense for all.
The world need not know whom thou art,
'Twill add no fame to thee;
'Twould deem thy deeds a patron's part,
But they are more to me.
And should'st thou doubt the nameless birth,
To whom these lines belong;
Then think whose heart has proved thy worth,
And thine will claim the song.
'Twill add no fame to thee;
'Twould deem thy deeds a patron's part,
But they are more to me.
And should'st thou doubt the nameless birth,
To whom these lines belong;
Then think whose heart has proved thy worth,
And thine will claim the song.
| The rural muse poems | |