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And still I deem'd that nothing could bestow Such soothing pleasure on my pensive breast,As o'er thy page to let the tear-drop flow, Glow with delight, or sink with fears oppress'd.
Till E * * * * *, e'en to thy immortal verse, Such unimagin'd loveliness could give,That while I heard him thy sweet lays rehearse 'Twas then, and only then, I seem'd to live!
'Twas then, that many a charm unfelt before, With brighter grace, and sweeter pathos flow'd,While E * * * * * 's lips unlock'd their honied store, And in his face the friend, the poet glow'd!
Long may the poet friendship's sweets enjoy! Long may the poet's harp the friend delight!Their fame, nor time, nor envy can destroy, Till Feeling, and the Muse, are sunk in deepest night.
ON THE DEATH OF HENRIETTA DUNCAN;AN INFANT COUSIN.
O'er the cold grave, where infant beauties rest, Soft let me pause, and drop the silent tear;The new-laid turf lies lightly on her breast, And guardian angels seem to hover near.
