And, when the melancholy grove I seek,
Scarce can my palpitating heart controul,
While silent tears are trembling on my cheek,
The flood of pleasure swelling in my soul.

But soon my too-elated thoughts are calm,
The tumults of the mental chaos cease;
A soft oblivion the rais'd senses charm,
And lull to a reflecting, soothing peace.

Hail, sweet enhancements of the languid mind!
Whose calm reposes restless worldlings scorn;
But from whose aid recruited strength we find,
And waken, lively as the bird of morn.

And thou, lov'd boy, in whose congenial breast,
I doubt not but those sentiments reside;
For we, our thoughts, our actions have confest,
As much in hearts as persons are allied;

Hail thou, my brother! may thy steps be led
By heav'nly wisdom through this world of care,
And gain the realms for which our Saviour, bled!
Nor pain, nor lassitude await us there.

OCTOBER 13, 1794.


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