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But, ah! my friend, forgive the fear Which thus in friendship's warmth arises;For yet, as in each earlier year, My heart that friendship fondly prizes.
The school-boy, from its verdant tree The op'ning rose-bud rudely sweeping,Its guardian thorn soon checks his glee, And leaves the thoughtless urchin weeping;
And smarting from the recent pain, Though near its fragrant sweets he'll linger,He dreads to pluck it, lest again The jealous thorn should wound his finger.
Thus when the heart is wrung with pain By faithless friends, we're ever dreadingTo trust to friendship, lest again It leaves the wounded bosom bleeding.
But our's was friendship's purest flame, Nor time its flow'ry bands shall sever;Oh! let me think thee still the same, Oh! let me love and trust thee ever!
