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And all mankind miftake their time of day;
Ev'n age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly fown
In furrow'd brows. So gentle life's defcent,
We fhut our eyes, and think it is a plain.
We take fair days in winter for the fpring;
And turn our bleffings into bane. Since oft
Man must Compute that age he cannot Feel,
He fearce believes he's older for his years.
Thus, at life's latest eve, we keep in store
One difappointment fure, to crown the reft;
The difappointment of a promis'd hour.
On THIS, or fimilar, Philader! thou

Whofe mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue;
And ftrong, to wield all fcience, worth the name;
How often we talk'd down the fummers fun,
Aud cool'd our paffions by the breezy ftream!
How often thaw'd, and fhorten'd winter's eve,
By conflict kind, that ftruck out latent truth,
But found, fo fought; to the Reclufe more coy!
Thoughts difentangle paffing o'er the lip;
Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away,
Or kept to tie up nonfenfe for a forg;
Song, fashionably fruitlefs! fuch as ftains
The Fancy, and unhollow'd Paffion fires;
Chiming her faints to Cytherea's fame.

Know'ft thou, Lorenzo! what a friend contains?
As bees Mixt Nectar draw from fragrant flow'rs,
So men from FRIENDSHIP, Wisdom and Delight;
Twins ty'd by nature, if they part, they die.
Haft thou no friend to fet thy mind abroach?
Good Senfe will ftagnate. Thoughts fhut up want air,
And fpoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun.

Had thought been all, fweet fpeech had been deny'd ;
Speech, thought's canal! fpeech, thought's criterion too!
Thought in the mine, may come forth gold, or drofs;
When coin'd in word, we know its Real worth,
If fterling, ftore it for thy future use;
'Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps, renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more poffeft;
Teaching, we learn; and, giving, we retain
The births of intellect: when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;

Speech burnishes our mental magazine;
Brightens, for ornament: and whets, for use.
What numbers, fheath'd in erudition, lie,
Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tomes,

And rufted in; who might have born an edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech,
If born bleft heirs of half their mother's tongue!
'Tis thoughts exchange, which like th' alternate push
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned fcum,
And defecates the ftudent's ftanding pool.

In Contemplation is his proud refource?
'Tis poor, as proud, by Converse unfuftain'd.
Rude thought runs wild in Contemplation's field ¿
Converfe, the menage, breaks it to the bit
Of due restraint; and Emulation's fpur
Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd.
'Tis converfe qualifies for folitude;
As exercise, for falutary rest.

By that untutor'd, Contemplation raves
A lunar prince, or famifh'd beggar dies;
And Nature's fool, by Wifdom's is outdone.

Wifdom, tho' richer than Peruvian mines,
And fweeter than the fweet ambrofial hive,
What is the, but the means of Happiness?
That unobtain'd, than folly more a fool;
A melancholy fool, without her bells.
Friendship the means of wisdom richly gives
The precious end, which makes our wifdom wife.
Nature, in zeal for human amity,

Denies, or damps an Undivided joy.
Joy is an import; joy is an exchange;
Joy flies monopolifts: it calls for TWO;
Rich fruit! heav'n planted! never pluckt by ONE,
Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give
To Social man true relifh of himself.
Full on ourselves defcending in a line
Pleasure's bright beam, is feeble in delight;
Delight intenfe, is taken by rebound;
Reverberated pleafures fire the breast.

Celeftial Happiness, whene'er the stoops
To vifit earth, one fhrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her sweet amends

For abfent heav'n--the bofom of a friend
Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft,
Each other's pillow to repofe divine.
Beware the counterfeit: In Paffion's flame

3

Hearts melt; but melt like ice, foon harder froze.
True love strikes root in Reason; paffion's foe;
Virtue alone entenders us for life:

I wrong her much entenders us for ever:
Of Friendship's faireft fruits, the fruit most fair
Is Virtue kindling at a rival fire,

And Emulously, rapid in her race.

O the foft enmity! endearing ftrife!

This carries friendship to her noon-tide point,
And gives the rivet of eternity.

From Friendship, which outlives my former themes,
Glorious furvivor of old TIME, and DEATH!
From friendship, thus, that flow'r of heav'nly feed,
The wife extract earth's most Hyblean blifs,
Superior wisdom, crown'd with smiling joy.
For joy, from friendship born, abound in fmiles.
O ftore it in the foul's moft golden cell!

But for whom bloffoms this Elyfian flower?
Abroad they find, who cherish it at Home.
Lorenzo! pardon what my love extorts,
An honeft love, and not afraid to frown.
Tho' choice of follies faften on the GREAT,
None clings more obftinate, than fancy food,
That facred friendship is their easy prey;
Caught by the wafture of a golden lure;
Or facination of a high-born smile.

Their fmiles, the GREAT, and the Coquet, throw out
For others hearts, tenacious of their own;
And we no less of ours, when Such the bait.
Ye fortune's cofferers! ye pow'rs of wealth!
You do your Rent-rolls most felonious wrong,
By taking our attachment to Yourselves.
Can gold gain friendship? impudence of hope!
As well mere man an angel might beget.
Love, and love only, is the loan for love.
Lorenzo! pride reprefs; nor hope to find
A friend, but what has found a friend in thee,
All like the purchase; few the price will pay ;
C

And this makes friends fuch miracles below.
What if (ince daring on fo nice a theme)
I fhew thee friendship delicate, as dear,
Of tender violations apt to die?

Referve will wound it; and Distrust, destroy.
Deliberate on all things with thy friend.

But fince friends grow not thick on ev'ry bough,
Nor ev'ry friend unrotten at the core;
First, on thy friend, delib'rate with thyself;
Paufe, ponder, fift; not eager in the choice,
Nor jealous of the chofen; fixing, fix;
Judge before friendship then confide till death.
Well, for thy friend; but nobler far for thee;
How gallant danger for earth's highest prize!
A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
"Poor is the friendlefs mafter of a world :

A world in purchase for a friend is gain."
So fung he (angels hear that angel fing!
Angels from friendship gather half their joy)
So Luang Philander, as his friend went round
In the rich Ichor, in the generous blood
Of Bacchus, purple God of joyous wit,
A brow folute, and ever-laughing eye.

He drank long health, and virtue, to his friend;
His friend, who warm'd him more, who more infpir'd.
Friendship's the wine of life; but friendship NEW
(Not fuch was his) is neither strong, nor pure.
O! for the bright complexion, cordial warmth,
And elevating fpirit, of a friend,

For twenty fummers ripening by my fide;
All feculence of falfhood long throw down;
All focial virtues rifing in his foul;

As crystal clear; and smiling, as they rise !
Here nectar flows; it fparkles in our fight;
Rich to the tafte, and genuine from the heart.
High-flavour'd Blifs for gods! on earth how rare !
On earth how Loft!Philander is no more.

Think'ft thou the theme intoxicates my fong?
Am I too warm?——too warm I cannot be.
I lov'd him much; but now I love him more.
Like birds, whofe beauties languish, half-conceal'd,
Til, mounted on the wing, their gloffy plumes

Expanding fine with azure, green and goll;
How bleffings brighten as they take their sight
His flight Philander took; his upward flight,
If ever foul afcended. Had he dropt,
(That eagle genius!) O had he fet fall
One feather as he flew; I, then, had wrote,
What friends might flatter: prudent foes forbear;
Rivals fcarce-damn: and Zɔilus repreive.
Yet what I can, I muft: it were profane
To quench a glory lighted at the skies,
And caft in fhadows his illuftrious clofe.
Strange! the theme most affecting, most fublime,
Momentuous most to man, fhou'd fleep unfung!
And yet it fleeps, by genius unawak'd,
Painim or Chriftian; to the blush of wit,
Man's higheft triumph! man's profoundest fill
The Death-bed of the juft! is yet undrawn
By mortal hand; it merits a divine :

Angels fhould paint it, angels ever THERE;
There, on a poft of honour, and of joy..

Dare I prefume, then? but Philander bids ;
And glory tempts, and inclination calls-
Yet am I ftruck; as Aruck the foul, beneath ́
Aerial Groves impenetrable gloom;

Or, in fome mighty Ruin's folemn shade;
Or, gazing by pale lamps on High-born Duft,
In vaults; thin courts of poor unflatter'd kings ;
Or, at the midnight ALTAR's hallow'd flame.
It is religion to proceed: I pause-

And enter, aw'd, the temple of my theme.
Is it his death-bed? No: it is his fhrine:
Behold him, there, juft rifing to a god.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate, Is privileg'd beyond the common walk

Of Virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
Fly, ye profane if not, draw near with awe,
Receive the bleffing, and adore the chance,
That threw in this Bethesda your disease;
If unreftor'd by this, defpair your cure.
For HERE refiftlefs demonftration dwells;
A death-bed's a detecter of the heart.
HERE tir'd Diffimulation drops her mafque,

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