Classic Poem

If e'er thy heart confess'd the gentle pow'r
Of Friendship, in the sweet domestic hour;
If e'er thy soul remembrance cou'd awake,
To prize some trifle for the giver's sake!
With energy of thought to paint the past,
With fond regrets, and boding fear o'er cast:
Restore, A URELIUS , thy injurious theft!
'Tis all that Friendship has to M YRA left.
This humble Ring no sparkling gems have grac'd,
No costly art, nor elegance of taste:
Oh then permit these eyes with joy to see
What Friendship has enrich'd—but not to thee!
Shou'dst thou, with sullen malice, not thy own,
Be faithless and unjust in this alone,
How wou'd the barb'rous treachery succeed?
“Enrich thee not, and make me poor indeed!”