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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.

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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.

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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.

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