MISCELLAXEOUS. 



Had nature made thee half a fool, 



But given thee wit to keep a school, 



I had not stared at thy backsliding ; 



But when thy wit I can confide in, 



AVhen well I know thy just pretence 



To solid and exalted sense ; 



When well I know that on thy head 



Piiilosophy her lights hath shed, 



I stand aghast ! thy virtues sum to, 



And wonder what this world will come to! 



Yet, whence this strain ? shall I repine 

 That thou alone dost singly shine? 

 Shall I lament that thou alone. 

 Of men of parts, hast prudence known ? 



TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS, 



Who, when the Author reasoned with him calmly, asked, 

 " Jfhe did not feel for him?'' 



•* Do I not feel /" The doubt is keen as steel. 

 Yea. I do feel — most exquisitely feel ; 

 My heart can weep, when from my downcast eye 

 I chase the tear, and stem the rising sigh : 

 Deep buried there I close the rankling dart. 

 And smile the most when heaviest is my heart. 

 On this I act — whatever pangs surround, 

 'Tis magnanimity to hide the wound. 

 When all was new, and life was in its spring, 

 I lived an unloved solitary thing ; 

 Even then I learnt to bury deep from day 

 The piercing cares that wore my youth away. 

 Even then I learnt for others' cares to feel, 

 Even then I wept I had not power to heal ; 

 Even then, deep-sounding through the nightly gloom, 

 I heard the wretched's groan, and mourn'd the wretched's \ 

 doom. [ 



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