My friendly fire, thou blazest clear and bright, Nor smoke nor ashes soil thy grateful flame; Thy temperate splendour cheers the gloom of night, Thy genial heat enlivens the chill'd frame. I love to muse me o'er the evening hearth, I love to pause in meditation's sway; And whilst each object gives reflection birth, Mark thy brisk rise, and see thy slow decay: And I would wish, like thee, to shine serene, Like thee, within mine influence, all to cheer; And wish at last, in life's declining scene, As I had beam'd as bright, to fade as clear: So might my children ponder o'er my shrine, And o'er my ashes muse, as I will muse over thine. BION. * * * * * SONNET XII. _THE FADED FLOWER._ Ungrateful he who pluckt thee from thy stalk, Poor faded flow'ret! on his careless way, Inhal'd awhile thine odours on his walk, Then past along, and left thee to decay. Thou melancholy emblem! had I seen Thy modest beauties dew'd with evening's gem, I had not rudely cropt thy parent stem, But left thy blossom still to grace the green; And now I bend me o'er thy wither'd bloom, And drop the tear, as Fancy, at my side Deep-sighing, points the fair frail EMMA's tomb; "Like thine, sad flower! was that poor wanderer's pride! O, lost to love and truth! whose selfish joy Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to destroy." BION. * * * * * SONNET XIII. _TO SENSIBILITY._ I'll court thy lone bow'r, Sensibility! And mark thy lovely form, wild waving hair, Thy loosely flowing robe, thy languid eye, And all those charms which blend to make thee fair. Far from the madding crowd thou lov'st to stray Recluse, and listen at the silent hour, When wildly warbling from her secret bow'r The pensive night-bird pours her evening lay. 'Tis thine own minstrel's melody is heard, And as her sad song, by the moon's still beam, Dies softly on mine ear, more sweet I deem Her mournful note than song of blither bird; So more than beauty's cheek of vermeil dye Charms thy soft downcast mein and tear-dew'd eye. MOSCHUS. * * * * * SONNET XIV. _TO HEALTH._