"Dear honest race! though now we meet no more, One last long look on what we were before-- Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu-- Drew tears from eyes unused to weep with you. Through splendid circles, fashion's gaudy world, Where folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd, I plunged to drown in noise my fond regret, And all I sought or hoped was to forget. Vain wish! if chance some well-remember'd face, Some old companion of my early race, Advanced to claim his friend with honest joy, My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy; The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around, Were quite forgotten when my friend was found; The smiles of beauty--(for, alas! I've known What 'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne)-- The smiles of beauty, though those smiles were dear, Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near; My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise, The woods of Ida danced before my eyes; I saw the sprightly wand'rers pour along, I saw and join'd again the joyous throng; Panting, again I traced her lofty grove, And friendship's feelings triumph'd over love." After deploring his fate:-- "Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share The tender guidance of a father's care. * * * * * * * "What brother springs a brother's love to seek? What sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek? * * * * * * * "Thus must I cling to some endearing hand, And none more dear than Ida's social band:"-- he goes on to name his dearest comrades, giving them each a fictitious name. Alonzo is Wingfield; Davus, Tattersall; Lycus, Lord Clare: Euryalus, Lord Delaware; and Cleon, Long:-- "Alonzo! best and dearest of my friends, Thy name ennobles him who thus commends: From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise: The praise is his who now that tribute pays. Oh! in the promise of thy early youth, If hope anticipate the words of truth, Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name, To build his own upon thy deathless fame. Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list Of those with whom I lived supremely blest, Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore; Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more. Yet, when confinement's lingering hour was done, Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one: Together we impell'd the flying ball; Together waited in our tutor's hall; Together join'd in cricket's manly toil, Or shared the produce of the river's spoil; Or, plunging from the green declining shore, Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore; In every element, unchanged, the same, All, all that brother's should be, but the name.