I'll not lament thy loss…perhaps ere night,
Some wandering, luckless, melancholy wight,
Well pleas'd may snatch thee from a watry grave,
And from destruction thy fair pages save;
One who like me by cruel fortune toss'd,
Has seen his brightest hopes, and fairest prospects crost:
Who as he roves the wide and trackless main,
O'er books forgets a while his mental pain,
Or with a gleeful, heart-belying song,
Deceives the minutes as they creep along.
Should such a one thy learned pages find,
And should they help to cheer his gloomy mind;
I'll bless the hand which did a loss impart,
That makes me much a gainer at the heart.