One disappointment sure, to crown the rest;
The disappointment of a promis'd hour.
On this or similar, Philander, thou,

Whose mind was moral as the preacher's tongue;
And strong, to wield all science, worth the name;
How often we talk'd down the summer's sun,
And cool'd our passions by the breezy stream!
How often thaw'd and shorten'd winter's eve,
By conflict kind, that struck out latent truth,
Best found, so sought; to the recluse more coy!
Thoughts disentangle, passing o'er the lip;
Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away,
Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song;
Song, fashionably fruitless; such as stains
The fancy, and unhallow'd passions fires,
Chiming her saints to Cytherea's fane.

Know'st thou, Lorenzo, what a friend contains?
As bees mix'd nectar draw from fragrant flow'rs,
So men from friendship, wisdom and delight;
Twins ty'd by Nature; if they part they die.
Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach?
Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up, want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.

Had thought been all, sweet speech had been deny'd;
Speech, thought's canal! speech, thought's criterion too!
Thought in the mine may come forth gold or dross;
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth:
If sterling, store it for thy future use;
"Twill buy thee benefit, perhaps renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possess'd;
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, sheath'd in erudition, lie
Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And rusted in; who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech!
If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue!
"Tis thought's exchange, which, like th' alternate push

Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum,
And defecates the student's standing pool.
In contemplation is his proud resource?
'Tis poor, as proud, by converse unsustain'd.
Rude thought runs wild in contemplation's field;
Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit
Of due restraint; and emulation's spur
Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd.
Tis converse qualifies for solitude,
As exercise for salutary rest:

By that untutor'd, contemplation raves,
And Nature's fool by Wisdom's is outdone.
Wisdom, tho' richer than Peruvian mines,
And sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive,
What is she 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 wisdom wise.
Nature, in zeal for human amity,

Denies or damps an undivided joy.
Joy is an import; joy is an exchange;
Joy flies monopolists; it calls for two:

Rich fruit! Heav'n-planted! never pluck'd by one.
Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give

To social man true relish of himself.
Full on ourselves descending in a line,
Pleasure's bright beam is feeble in delight:
Delight intense is taken by rebound;
Reverberated pleasures fire the breast.

Celestial happiness! whene'er she stoops
To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her sweet amends
For absent heav'n-the bosom of a friend;
Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft,
Each other's pillow to repose divine.

Beware the counterfeit; in passion's flame
Hearts melt, but melt like ice, soon harder froze.
True love strikes root in reason, passion's foe;
Virtue alone entenders us for life:

I wrong her much-entenders us for ever.
Of friendship's fairest fruits, the fruit most fair

Is virtue kindling at a rival fire,
And emulously rapid in her race.
O the soft enmity! endearing strife!

This carries Friendship to her noou-tide point,
And gives the rivet of eternity.

From Friendship, which outlives my former themes,
Glorious survivor of Old Time and Death!
From Friendship thus, that flow'r of heav'nly seed,
The wise extract earth's most Hyblean bliss,
Superior wisdom, crown'd with smiling joy.
But for whom blossoms this Elysian flower?
Abroad they find who cherish it at home.
Lorenzo, pardon what my love extorts,
An honest love, and not afraid to frown.
Tho' choice of follies fastens on the great,
None clings more obstinate than fancy fond,
That sacred friendship is their easy prey,
Caught by the wafture of a golden lure,
Or fascination of a high-born smile,

Their smiles, the great and the coquet throw out
For other 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 repress, nor hope to find
A friend, but what has found a friend in thee.
All like the purchase, few the price will pay;
And this makes friends such miracles below.
What if (since daring on so nice a theme)
I shew thee friendship delicate as dear,
Of tender violations apt to die?

Reserve will wound it, and distrust destroy;
Deliberate on all things with thy friend:

But since friends grow not thick on ev'ry bough,
Nor ev'ry friend unrotten at the core;
First on thy friend delib'rate with thyself;
Pause, ponder, sift; not eager in the choice,
Nor jealous of the chosen: 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 friendless master of a world:
66 A world in purchase for a friend is gain."
So sung he (angels hear that angel sing!
Angels from friendship gather half their joy!)
So sung Philander, as his friend went round
In the rich ichor, in the gen'rous blood
Of Bacchus, purple god of joyous wit,
A brow solute, and ever-laughing eye.
He drank long health and virtue to his friend.
His friend! who warm'd him more, who more inspir'd
Friendship's the wine of life; but friendship new
(Not such was his) is neither strong nor pure.
O! for the bright complexion, cordial warmth,
And elevating spirit of a friend,

For twenty summers ripening by my side;
All feculence of falsehood long thrown down;
All social virtues rising in his soul;

As crystal clear, and smiling as they rise!
Here nectar flows! it sparkles in our sight;
Rich to the taste, and genuine from the heart.
High-flavour'd bliss for gods! on earth how rare!
On earth how lost!---Philander is no more.
Think'st thou the theme intoxicates my song?
Am I too warm?---Too warm I cannot be?
I lov'd him much, but now I love him more.
Like birds, whose beauties languish, half conceal'd,
Till mounted on the wing their glossy plumes
Expanded shine with azure, green, and gold;
How blessings brighten as they take their flight!
His flight Philander took; his upward flight,
If ever soul ascended. Had he dropt,
(That eagle genius!) O had he let fail
One feather as he fiew, I then had wrote
What friends might flatter, prudent foes forbear,
Rivals scarce damn, and Zoilus reprieve.
Yet what I can I must: it were profane
To quench a glory lighted at the skies,
And cast in shadows his illustrious close.

Strange; the theme most affecting, most sublime,
Momentous most to man, should sleep unsung!
And yet it sleeps, by genius unawak'd,
Painim or Christian, to the blush of Wit.
Man's highest triumph, man's profoundest fall,
The death-bed of the just! is yet undrawn
By mortal hand; it merits a divine :
Angels should paint it, angels ever there;
There, on a post of honour and of joy.

Dare I presume, then? but Philander bids,
And glory tempts, and inclination calls,
Yet am I struck, as struck the soul beneath
Aerial groves impenetrable gloom,

Or in some mighty ruin's solemn shade,
Or gazing, by pale lamps, on high-born dust
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 fame.
Is it his death-bed? No: it is his shrine:
Behold him there just rising 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 heav'n.
Fly, ye profane! if not, draw near with awe,
Receive the blessing, and adore the chance
That threw in this Bethesda your disease:
If unrestor❜d by this, despair your cure;
For here resistless demonstration dwells:
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
Here tir'd Dissimulation drops her mask
Thro' Life's grimace, that mistress of the scene!
Here real and apparent are the same.

You see the man, you see his hold on heav'n,

If sound his virtue; as Philander's sound.

Heav'n waits not the last moment; owns her friends

On this side death, and points them out to men;
A lecture silent, but of sovereign pow'r !
To Vice confusion, and to Virtue peace.
Whatever farce the boastful hero plays,
Virtue alone has majesty in Death,

And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns.
'ander! he severely frown'd on thee,