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 Heaven-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 noontide 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 flower of heavenly 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 fond, That sacred friendship is their easy prey Caught by the wafture of a golden lure,
Their smiles the great, and the coquette, throw out
Or fascination of a highborn smile.
For others' hearts, tenacious of their own; And we no less of ours, when such the bait. Ye Fortune's cofferers! ye powers of Wealth! Can gold gain friendship? impudence of hope
As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, and love only, is the loar 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 show thee friendship delicate as dear, Of tender violations apt to die?
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; 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 generous 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 inspired.
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 riso
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 loved 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 fight! €00 His flight Philander took, his upward flight, If ever soul ascended. Had he dropp'd, (That eagle genius!) O had he let fall One feather as he flew, I then had wrote
What friends might flatter, prudent foes forbear, C05 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, 610 Momentous most to man, should sleep unsung! And yet it sleeps, by genius unawaked, Painim or Christian, to the blush of Wit.
Man's highest triumph, man's profoundest fall, The deathbed 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 highborn 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, awed, the ten pie of my theme.
Is it his deathbed? No; it is his shrine.
Behold him there just rising to a god.
The chamber where the good man meets his fate
Is privileged beyond the common walk
Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of Heaven. Fly, ye profane! if not, draw near with awe, Receive the blessing, and adore the chance That threw in this Bethesda your disease: If unrestored by this, despair your cure; For here resistless Demonstration dwells. A deathbed's a detector of the heart! Here tired Dissimulation drops her mask,
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 Heaven, If sound his virtue, as Philander's sound.
Heaven waits not the last moment; owns her friends On this side death, and points them out to men; 646
A lecture silent, but of sovereign power!
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. Philander! he severely frown'd on thee. 'No warning given! unceremonious fate! A sudden rush from life's meridian joys!
A wrench from all we love! from all we are. A restless bed of pain! a plunge opaque Beyond conjecture! feeble Nature's dread! Strong Reason's shudder at the dark unknown! A sun extinguish'd! a just opening grave!
And, oh the last, the last; what? (can words express, Thought reach it?) the last-silence of a friend!' Where are those horrors, that amazement, where This hideous group of ills which singly shock? Demand from man—I thought him man, till now. 664 Through Nature's wreck, through vanquish'd agonies
(Like the stars struggling through this midnight gloom) What gleams of joy! what more than human peace ! Where the frail mortal, the poor abject worm ? No, not in death the mortal to be found. His conduct is a legacy for all,
Richer than Mammon's for his single heir. His comforters he comforts; great in ruin, With unreluctant grandeur gives, not yields His soul sublime, and closes with his fate.
How our hearts burn'd within us at the scene 675 Whence this brave bound o'er limits fix'd to man? His God sustains him in his final hour!
His final hour brings glory to his God!
Man's glory Heaven vouchsafes to call her own. We gaze, we wecp; mix'd tears of grief and joy! 680 Amazement strikes: devotion bursts to flame : Christians adore! and infidels believe !
As some tall tower, or lofty mountain's brow, Detains the Sun, illustrious, from its height, While rising vapours and descending shades, With damps and darkness, drown the spacious vale⚫ Undamp'd by doubt, undarken'd by despair, Philander thus augustly rears his head,
At that black hour which general horror sheds On the low level of the' inglorious throng:
Sweet peace, and heavenly hope, and humble joy Divinely beam on his exalted soul; Destruction gild and crown him for the skies, With incommunicable lustre bright.
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