PART II.] CHILDHOOD. 



There Friendship lights her pure untainted flame, 

 There mild Benevolence delights to dwell, 

 And sweet Contentment rests without her cell ; 

 And there, 'mid many a stormy soul, we find 

 The good of heart, the intelligent of mind. 



'Twas there, oh George ! with thee I learn'd to join 



In Friendship's bands — in amity divine. 



Oh, mournful thought ! — Vv'here is thy spirit now ? 



As here I sit on fav'rite Logar's brow, 



And trace below each well-remember"d glade, 



Where, arm in arm, erewhile with thee I stray"d. 



Where art thou laid — on what untrodden shore, 



W^here nought is heard save ocean's sullen roar? 



Dost thou in lowly, unlaniented state, 



At last repose from all the storms of fate ? 



Methinks I see thee struggling with the wave. 



Without one aiding hand stretched out to save ; 



See thee convulsed, thy looks to Heaven bend, 



And send thy parting sigh unto thy friend. 



Or where immeasurable wilds dismay, 



Forlorn and sad thou bend'st thy w'eary way, 



While sorrow and disease, with anguish rite. 



Consume apace the ebbing springs of life. 



Again I see his door against thee shut, 



The unfeeling native turn thee from his hut : 



I see thee spent with toil, and worn with grief, 



Sit on the grass, and wish the long'd relief; 



Then lie thee down, the stormy struggle o'er. 



Think on thy native land — and rise no more ! 



Oh that thou couldst, from thine august abode, 

 Survey thy friend in life's dismaying road. 

 That thou couldst see him at this moment here, 

 Embalm thy memory with a pious tear. 

 And hover o'er him as he gazes round, 

 Where all the scenes of infant joys surround. 



Yes ! yes I his spirit's near ! — The whispering breeze 

 Conveys his voice sud sighing on the trees : 



