Speech burnishes our mental magazine;
Brightens for ornament, and whets for ufe.
What numbers, fheath'd in erudition, lie
Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tombs,
And rufted in; who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if borne to fpeech;
If born blefs'd heirs to half their mother's tongue!
"Tis thought's exchange, which, like the alternate pufa
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 converfe unfuftain'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 converfe qualifies for folitude;
As exercife, for falutary reft.
"By that untutor'd, Contemplation raves
A lunar prince or famifh'd beggar dies,
And Nature's fool, by Wifdom's is undone.
Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines,
And fweeter than the sweet ambroifial 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, and friendship richly gives
The precious end, which makes our wisdom 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 pluck'd by one.
Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give

To facial man true relish of himself.
Full on ourfelves defcending in a line,
Pleasure's bright beam is feeble in delight:
Delight intenfe is taken by rebound;
Reverberated pleasuresfire the breast.
D

Celestial Happiness, whene'er fhe floops To vifit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, And one alone, to make her fweet 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
Hearts melt; but melt like ice, foon harder frozę.
True love ftrikes root in Reason, Paffion'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, emuloufly, rapid in her race.

O the foft enmity? endearing ftrife!

This carries Friendship to her noontide 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 moft Hyblean blifs,
Superior wifdom, crown'd with fmiling joy;
For joy, from friendship born, abounds in fmiles.
O ftore it in the foul's moft golden cell!

But for whom bloffoms this Elyfian flow'r?
Abroad they find, who cherish it at home.
LORENZO pardon what my love extorts,
An honeft love, and not afraid to frown.
Though choice of follies faften on the great,
None clings more abftinate, than fancy fond,
That facred friendship is their eafy prey:
Caught by the wafture of a golden lure;
Or fafcination of a high-born fmile.

Their fmiles the great and the coquet throw out
For other hearts tenacious of their own;
And we no lefs of ours, when fuch the bait.
Ye fortune cofferers! ye pow'rs of wealth!
You do rent-rolls most felonious wrong,
your
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;
And this makes friends fuch miracles below.
What if (fince daring on so nice a theme)
I fhow thee friendship delicate, as dear,
Of tender violations apt to die?

Referve will wound it; and diftruft, 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;
Firft, on thy friend, delib'rate with thyfelf:
Paufe, ponder, fift; not eager in the choice,
Nor jealous of the chosen; fixing, fix;
Judge before freindship; 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 hazard we can run.
"Poor is the friendless mafter of the world;
"A world in purchase for a friend is gain.'

So fung he, (angels hear that angels fing!
Angels from friendship gather half their joy),
So fung 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 ftrong 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 falfehood long thrown down!
All focial virtues rifing in his foul;
As cryftal clear; and failing, as they rife!

Here nectar flows; it fparkles in our fight;
Rich to the tafte, and genuine from the heart.
High flavoured blifs for gods! on earth, how rare!
On earth, how loft!-PHILANDER is no more.
Think't 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 languifh, half conceal'd,
Till mounted on the wing, their gloffy plumes
Expanded, fhine with azure, green, and gold;
How bleffings brighten as they take their flight!
His flight PHILANDER took; his upward flight,
If ever foul afcended. 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 fcarce damn and Zoilus reprieve.

:

Yet what I can, I muft: It were profane
To quench a glory lighted at the skies.
And caft in fhadows his illuftrious close.
Strange! the theme most affecting, moft fublime,
Momentous moft to man, fhould fleep unfung!
And yet it fleeps, by genius unawak'd.
Painim or Chriftian; to the blush of wit.
Man's higheft triumph! mans profoundest fall! :
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 ftruck the foul, beneath
Aerial groves impenetrable gloom;
Or in fome mighty ruin's folemn fhade;
Or gazing on 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 paufe-
And enter, aw'd, the temple of my theme.

Is it his death-bed? No! it is his shrine!
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 heav'n
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 detector of the heart.
Here tir'd Diffimulation drops her mask,
Through life's grimace, that miftrefs of the fcene !
Here, real and apparent are the same.

You fee the man; you see his hold on heav'n ;
If found his virtue, as PHILANDER's found.

Heav'n waits not the laft moment; owns her friends
On this fide death; and points them out to men :

A lecture, filent, but of fov'reign pow'r!

To vice, confufion; and to virtue, peace.
Whatever farce the boatful hero plays,
Virtue alone has majefty in death;

And greater ftill, the more the tyrant frowns.
PHILANDER! he feverely frown'd on thee.
"No warning giv'n! unceremonious fate?
"A fudden rush from life's meridian joys!
"A wrench from all we love! from all we are!
“A restless bed of pain! a plunge opaque

66

Beyond conjecture! feeble Nature's dread! "Strong Reafon's fhudder at the dark unknown? "A fun extinguish d! a juft op'ning grave!

"And oh! the laft, laft-what? (can words exprefs! "Thought reach it?) the last-filence of a friend!" Where are thofe horrors, that amazement, where, This hideous group of ills, which fingly shock, Demand from man?-I thought him man till now.

Thro' nature's wreck, thro' vanquifh'd agonies, (Like the stars ftruggling thro' this midnight gloom), What gleams of joy! what more than human peace