Classic Poem

N, with whom my bosom shar'd of yore
The sweets of Friendship, when in Oxford's bow'rs
Learning and Mirth employ'd our fleeting hours,
Or pleasing dreams on Cherwell's rural shore;
Where our glad eyes survey'd the blooming store
Of genial Summer, crown'd with fragrant flow'rs,
Oft as with soul serene those learned tow'rs
We left, intent on more enchanting lore;
When shall we range once more our lov'd retreats?
Whence now divided far, in other climes
At Duty's earnest call we leave resign'd
Those harmless pleasures, still on distant seats
Looking with fond regret, and former times
Recalling anxious to the musing mind.