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POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS.

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There's no place like home! there's no place like home !

John Howard Fayne. /

POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS.

FRIENDSHIP.

BENEDICITE.

God's love and peace be with thee, where
Soe'er this soft autumnal air
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair!

Whether through city casements comes
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms,
Or, out among the woodland blooms,

It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face, Imparting, in its glad embrace, Beauty to beauty, grace to grace !

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COME then, my friend! my genius! come along;
O master of the poet, and the song!
And while the muse now stoops, or now ascends,
To man's low passions, or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise,
To fall with dignity, with temper rise;
Formed by thy converse happily to steer
From grave to gay, from lively to severe;
Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease,
Intent to reason, or polite to please.

O, while along the stream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame;
Say, shall my little bark attendant sail,
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale?
When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose,
Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes,
Shall then this verse to future age pretend
Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend!
That, urged by thee, I turned the tuneful art
From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart:
For wit's false mirror held up Nature's light;
Showed erring pride, WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT;
That REASON, PASSION, answer one great aim;
That true SELF-LOVE and SOCIAL are the same;
That VIRTUE only makes our bliss below;
And all our knowledge is, OURSELVES TO KNOW.

ALEXANDER POPE.

A GENEROUS friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.

POPE'S ILIAD.

PARTED FRIENDS.

FRIEND after friend departs :
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end;
Were this frail world our only rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,

Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blesséd clime Where life is not a breath,

Nor life's affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upward to expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown; A whole eternity of love,

Formed for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying here Translated to that happier sphere.

Thus star by star declines,

Till all are passed away,

As morning high and higher shines,
To pure and perfect day;

Nor sink those stars in empty night;
They hide themselves in heaven's own light.
JAMES MONTGOMERY.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. [Died in New York, September, 1820.] GREEN be the turf above thee,

Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.

Tears fell, when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep.

When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth,
There should a wreath be woven
To tell the world their worth;

And I, who woke each morrow

To clasp thy hand in mine, Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and woe were thine,

It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow,

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HAM. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation coped withal.
HOR. O my dear lord -

НАМ.
Nay, do not think I flatter:
For what advancement may I hope from thee
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits,
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor
be flattered?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou
hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath sealed thee for herself; for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,
A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are
those

Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please: Give me that

man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.

SHAKESPEARE.

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