POETRY. 999 



Bill oft the bitter hour recall, 

 Which saw thee in life's springtime fall 

 And TV rapp'd thy fatal shroud. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND 



THOMAS BRIGSTOCK. 



FROM THt: SAME. 



DEAR lost companion of my earliest joys ! 

 If lingering yet thy spirit haunt the fields, 

 Where blithesome once we strayed, and young in car«, 

 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, 

 To muse with solitude and sad regret : 

 What time the nightingale in shady brake, 

 Where the low hazel or the tHngled thorn 

 Veils her from vulgar eye, with querulous note 

 Warbles, as mindful of a gentle friend. 

 And soothing is her lay, to one, who grieves 

 In placid sorrow, at the fall of eve 

 Marking the ruddy light that fades away, 

 And the still moonbeam steal upon the leaves. 

 How oft retiring from the giddy crowd 

 At sober eveiiing, when the setting sun 

 Skirted the western clouds with varied light. 

 We mused unseen upon the goodly forms 

 Of smiling nature ! Sometimes, when the year 

 Put forth its budding charms, we lov'd to mark 

 The pale anemone, that softly rcar'd 

 Its modest head beneath theleatless brake. 

 Delightful herald of returning spring. 

 Then as we saw the year roll slowly on. 

 Breathing new sweets, and opening 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 unrestrained, 



3 S 4 Prey 



