Yet there the gentler virtues kindred claim,
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 learned to join In Friendship's bands-in amity divine.

Oh, mournful thought!—Where is thy spirit now? As here I sit on fav'rite Logar's brow,

And trace below each well-remembered glade,
Where, arm in arm, erewhile with thee I strayed.
Where art thou laid-on what untrodden shore,
Where nought is heard save ocean's sullen roar?
Dost thou in lowly, unlamented 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 weary way,
While sorrow and disease, with anguish rife,
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 longed 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! his spirit's near!-The whispering breeze
Conveys his voice sad sighing on the trees:
And lo! his form transparent I perceive,
Borne on the gray mist of the sullen eve:
He hovers near, clad in the night's dim robe,
While deathly silence reigns upon the globe.

Yet ah! whence comes this visionary scene?
'Tis fancy's wild aërial dream I ween;
By her inspired, when reason takes its flight,
What fond illusions beam upon the sight!
She waves her hand, and lo! what forms appear!
What magic sounds salute the wondering ear!
Once more o'er distant regions do we tread,
And the cold grave yields up its cherished dead;
While present sorrows banished far away,
Unclouded azure gilds the placid day,

Or in the future's cloud-encircled face,
Fair scenes of bliss to come we fondly trace,
And draw minutely every little wile,

Which shall the feathery hours of time beguile.

So when forlorn, and lonesome at her gate,
The Royal Mary solitary sate,

And viewed the moonbeam trembling on the wave,
And heard the hollow surge her prison lave,
Towards France's distant coast she bent her sight,
For there her soul had winged its longing flight;
There did she form full many a scheme of joy,
Visions of bliss unclouded with alloy,