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Yet precious seems each shattered part,
And every fragment dearer grown, Since he who wears thee, feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.
[This poem and the following were written some years ago.]
To a Youthful Friend.
Few years have passed since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And childhood's gay sincerity
Preserved our feelings long the same.
And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign, A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.
As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow?
It boots not, that together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy; My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's controul,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.
Not so in Man's maturer years, ;
When Man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all must love and hate by rule.
With fools in kindred vice the same, ,
We learn at length our faults to blend, And those, and those alone may claim,
The prostituted name of friend.