Dear lost Companion! ever-constant Youth! That Fate had smil'd propitious on thy Truth! Nor bound th' ensanguin'd laurel on that brow Where Love ordain'd his brightest wreath to glow! Then Peace had led thee to her softest bow'rs, And Hymen strew'd thy path with all his flow'rs; Drawn to thy roof, by Friendship's silver cord, Each social Joy had brighten'd at thy board; Science, and soft Affection's blended rays Had shone unclouded on thy lengthen'd days; From hour to hour thy taste, with conscious pride, Had mark'd new talents in thy lovely Bride; Till thou hadst own'd the magic of her face Thy fair Honora's least engaging grace. Dear lost Honora! o'er thy early bier Sorrowing the Muse still sheds her sacred tear! The blushing Rose-bud in its vernal bed, By Zephyrs fann'd, by glist'ring Dew-drops fed, In June's gay morn that scents the ambient air, Was not more sweet, more innocent or fair. Oh! when such Pairs their kindred Spirit find, When Sense and Virtue deck each spotless Mind, Hard is the doom that shall the union break, And Fate's dark billow rises o'er the wreck. Now Prudence, in her cold and thrifty care, Frown'd on the Maid, and bade the Youth despair, For Pow'r Parental sternly saw, and strove To tear the lily-bands of plighted love; Nor strove in vain;--but while the Fair-One's sighs Disperse, like April storms in sunny skies, The firmer Lover, with unswerving truth, To his first passion consecrates his Youth; Tho' four long years a night of absence prove, Yet Hope's soft Star shone trembling on his Love; Till[75]hov'ring Rumour chas'd the pleasing dream And veil'd with Raven-wing the silver beam. "Honora lost! my happy Rival's Bride! "Swell ye full Sails! and roll thou mighty Tide! "O'er the dark Waves forsaken André bear "Amid the vollying Thunders of the War! "To win bright Glory from my Country's foes, "E'en in this ice of Love, my bosom glows. "Voluptuous London! in whose gorgeous bow'rs "The frolic Pleasures lead the dancing Hours, "From Orient-vales Sabean-odours bring, "Nor ask her roses of the tardy Spring; "Where Paintings burn the Grecian Meed to claim "From the high Temple of immortal Fame, "Bears to the radiant Goal, with ardent pace, "Her Kauffman's Beauty, and her Reynolds' Grace; "Where Music floats the glitt'ring roofs among, "And with meand'ring cadence swells the Song, "While sun-clad Poesy the Bard inspires, "And foils the Grecian Harps, the Latian Lyres.