"Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps, renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possest;
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 the alterna
push

Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum,
And defecates the students 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 is undone.
Wisdom, though 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, drug
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 pluckt 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:

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 noon-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.
Though choice of follies fasten on the great,
None clings more obstinate, than fancy foud

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 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!
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?

Reverse 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 rub.
"Poor is the friendless master of a world:
"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
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 fall
One feather as he flew, 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
Aërial 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.
Is it religion to proceed? I pause-
And enter, aw'd, the temple of my theme.
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 detecter of the heart.
Here tir'd Dissimulation drops her masque,
Through 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 friem!
On this side death; and points them out to men.
A lecture, silent, but of sov'reign 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.