Classic Poem

FAREWELL , false hearts! whose best affections fail
Like shallow brooks which summer suns exhale,
Forgetful of the man whom once ye chose,
Cold in his cause, and careless of his woes,
I bid you both a long and last adieu,
Cold in my turn and unconcern'd like you.
First — farewell Niger whom, now duly prov'd,
I disregard as much as once I lov'd.
Your brain well furnish'd, and your tongue well taught
To press with energy your ardent thought,
Your senatorial dignity of face,
Sound sense, intrepid spirit, manly grace,
Have rais'd you high as talents can ascend,
Made you a peer, but spoilt you for a friend.
Pretend to all that parts have e'er acquir'd,
Be great, be fear'd, be envied, be admir'd,
To fame as lasting as the earth pretend,
But not, hereafter, to the name of friend.
I sent you verse, and, as your Lordship knows,
Back'd with a modest sheet of humble prose,
Not to recall a promise to your mind,
Fulfill'd with ease had you been so inclin'd,
But to comply with feelings, and to give
Proof of an old affection still alive. —
Your sullen silence serves at least to tell
Your alter'd heart — and so, my Lord — farewell!
Next, busy Actor on a meaner stage,
Amusement-monger of a trifling age,
Illustrious histrionic patentee,
Terentius, once my friend, farewell to thee.
In thee some virtuous qualities combine
To fit thee for a nobler post than thine,
Who, born a gentleman, hast stoop'd too low
To live by buskin, sock, and raree-show.
Thy schoolfellow, and partner of thy plays
Where Nicol swung the birch and twin'd the bays,
And having known thee bearded and full grown,
The weekly censor of a laughing town,
I thought the volume I presum'd to send,
Grac'd with the name of a long absent friend,
Might prove a welcome gift, and touch thine heart,
Not hard by nature, in a feeling part.
But thou, it seems (what cannot grandeur do,
Though but a dream?) art grown disdainful too,
And strutting in thy school of Queens and Kings,
Who fret their hour and are forgotten things,
Hast caught the cold distemper of the day,
And, like his Lordship, cast thy friend away.
Oh, Friendship, cordial of the human breast,
So little felt, so fervently profess'd,
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years,
The promise of delicious fruit appears;
We hug the hopes of constancy and truth,
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth;
But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake
That sanguine inexperience loves to make,
And view with tears th' expected harvest lost,
Decay'd by time or wither'd by a frost.
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part
Should be renew'd in nature, pure in heart,
Prepar'd for martyrdom, and strong to prove
A thousand ways the force of genuine love.
He may be call'd to give up health and gain,
T' exchange content for trouble, ease for pain,
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan,
And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own.
The heart of man for such a task too frail,
When most relied on is most sure to fail,
And, summon'd to partake its fellow's woe,
Starts from its office like a broken bow.
Vot'ries of bus'ness and of pleasure prove
Faithless alike in friendship and in love.
Retir'd from all the circles of the gay,
And all the crowds that bustle life away,
To scenes where competition, envy, strife,
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life,
Let me, the charge of some good angel, find
One who has known and has escap'd mankind,
Polite yet virtuous, who has brought away
The manners, not the morals of the day.
With Him, perhaps with Her (for men have known
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown)
Let me enjoy in some unthought-of spot,
All former friends forgiven and forgot,
Down to the close of life's fast-fading scene,
Union of hearts, without a flaw between.
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise,
If God give health, that sunshine of our days —
And if he add, a blessing shar'd by few,
Content of heart, more praises still are due —
But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest;
And giving one whose heart is in the skies,
Born from above and made divinely wise,
He gives what bankrupt Nature never can,
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man,
Gold purer far than Ophir ever knew,
A soul an image of Himself, and therefore true.