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72  MARIA A. BROOKS.

"That blest commission, friend of men, I bear, 
To comfort those who undeservedly mourn; 
And every, good resolve, kind tear, heart-prayer, 
'T is mine to show before the Eternal's throne.

"And oft I haste, and when the good and true 
Are headlong urged to deep pollution, save; 
Just as my wings receive some drops of dew, 
Which else must join Asphaltites' black wave."

He said; all o'er to radiant beauty warming, 
While they, in doubt of what they look'd upon, 
Beheld a form—dissolving—dazzling—charming—
But, ere their lips found utterance, it was gone.

TO ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Oh! laurel'd bard, how can I part, 
Those cheering smiles no more to see, 
Until my soothed and solaced heart 
Pours forth one grateful lay to thee?

Fair virtue tuned thy youthful breath, 
And peace and pleasure bless thee now; 
For love and beauty guard the wreath 
That blooms upon thy manly brow.

The Indian, leaning on his bow, 
On hostile cliff, in desert drear, 
Cast with less joy his glance below, 
When came some friendly warrior near;

The native dove of that warm isle 
Where oft, with flowers, my lyre was drest, 
Sees with less joy the sun awhile 
When vertic rains have drench'd her nest,

MARIA A. BROOKS.  73

Than I, a stranger, first beheld 
Thine eye's harmonious welcome given 
With gentle word, which, as it swell'd, 
Came to my heart benign as heaven.

Soft be thy sleep, as mists that rest 
On Skiddaw's top at summer morn; 
Smooth be thy days as Derwent's breast, 
When summer light is almost gone!

And yet, for thee, why breathe a prayer? 
I deem thy fate is given in trust 
To seraphs, who by daily care, 
Would prove that heaven is not unjust.

And treasured shall thine image be 
In memory's purest, holiest shrine, 
While truth and honour glow in thee, 
Or life's warm quivering pulse is mine.

FRIENDSHIP.

To meet a friendship such as mine, 
Such feelings must the soul refine, 
As are not oft of mortal birth;—
'Tis love, without a stain of earth.

Looks are its food, its nectar sighs, 
Its couch the lips, its throne the eyes, 
The soul its breath, and so possest, 
Heaven's raptures reign in mortal breast.

Though Friendship be its earthly name, 
Purely from highest Heaven it came; 
'Tis seldom felt for more than one, 
And scorns to dwell with Venus' son.
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