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Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore, The hill of knowledge I essayed to trace ; That verd’rous hill with many a resting place, And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour To glad and fertilize the subject plains; That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod, And many a fancy-blest and holy sod Where Inspiration, his diviner strains Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks Stiff evergreens, whose spread foliage mocks Wani's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age, And mad oppression's thunder-clasping rage ! O meek retiring Spirit! we will climb, Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime; And from the stirring world uplifted high, (Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind To quiet musings shall attune the mind, And oft the melancholy theme supply,) There, while the prospect through the gazing eve Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, We'll laugh at wealth, and learn to laugh at fame, Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the

same, As neighb’ring fountains image, each the whole.

Give him all kindness: I had rather have
Such men my friends, than enemies.


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The birds, when winter shades the sky,

Fly o'er the seas away,
Wehere laughing isles in sunshine lie,

And summer breezes play ;

And thus the friends that flutter near,

While fortune's sun is warm, Are started if a cloud appear,

And fly before the storm.

But when from winter's howling plains

Each other warbler's past,
The little snow-bird still remains,

And chirrups midst the blast.

Love, like that bird, when friendship’s throng

With fortune's sun depart,
Still lingers with its cheerful song,

And nestles on the heart.

Unequal fortune
Made him my debtor for some courtesies,
Which bind the good more firmly.


در سه



I will collect some rare, some cheerful friends,
And we shall spend together glorious hours,
That gods might envy. Little time so spent
Doth far outvalue all our life beside.
This is indeed our life, our waking life,
The rest dull breathing sleep.-

Thus, it is true, from the sad years of life
We sometimes do short hours, yea minutes strike,
Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten;
Which, through the dreary gloom of time o'er.

Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste.
But few they are, as few the heaven-fired souls
Whose magic power creates them.



FRIENDSHIP is power and riches all to me;
Friendship's another element of life:
Water and fire not of more general use,
To the support and comfort of the world,
Than friendship to the being of my joy ;
I would do everything to serve a friend.





Why should my anxious breast repine,

Because my youth is fled ?
Days of delight may still be mine;

Affection is not dead.
In tracing back the years of youth,
One firm record, one lasting truth

Celestial consolation brings;
Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat,
Where first my heart responsive beat,

“Friendship is Love without his wings !"

Through few, but deeply chequered years,

What moments have been mine!
Now half obscured by clouds of tears,
Now bright in

rays divine;
Howe'er my future doom be cast,
My soul, enraptured with the past,

To one idea fondly clings;
Friendship! that thought is all thine own,
Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone

Friendship is Love without his wings!"
Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave

Their branches on the gale,

Unheeded heaves a simple grave,

Which tells the common tale; Round this unconscious school-boys stray, Till the dull knell of childish play

From yonder studious mansion rings; But here whene'er my footsteps move, My silent tears too plainly prove,

“Friendship is Love without his wings !"

Oh Love! before thy glowing shrine

My early vows were paid ;
My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine,

But these are now decayed ;
For thine are pinions like the wind,
No trace of thee remains behind,

Except, alas ! thy jealous stings.
Away, away! delusive power,
Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour

Unless, indeed, without thy wings.

Seat of my youth! thy distant spire

Recalls cach scene of joy;
My bosom glows with former fire,-

In mind again a boy.
Thy grove of elmes, thy verdant hill,
Thy every part delights me still,

Each flower a double fragrance flings;
Again, as once, in converse gay,
Each dear associate seems to say,

“Friendship is Love without his wings!"

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