In brief oblivion to forego

Friends, such as thine, so justly dear,
And be a while with me content
To stay, a kindly loiterer, here:

For this a gleam of random joy
Hath flush'd my unaccustom'd cheek;
And, with an o'ercharged, bursting heart,
I feel the thanks I cannot speak.

Oh! sweet are all the muses' lays,

And sweet the charm of matin bird; "Twas long since these estranged ears The sweeter voice of friend had heard.

The voice hath spoke: the pleasant sounds
In mem❜ry's ear in after time

Shall live, to sometimes rouse a tear,
And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme.

For, when the transient charm is fled,
And when the little week is o'er,

To cheerless, friendless solitude
When I return as heretofore,

Long, long within my aching heart
The grateful sense shall cherish'd be ;
I'll think less meanly of myself,

That Lloyd will sometimes think on me.

THE THREE FRIENDS.

THREE young maids in friendship met;
Mary, Martha, Margaret.

Margaret was tall and fair,
Martha shorter by a hair;

If the first excell'd in feature,

Th' other's grace and ease were greater;
Mary, though to rival loath,

In their best gifts equall'd both.
They a due proportion kept;
Martha mourn'd if Margaret wept;
Margaret joy'd when any good
She of Martha understood;
And in sympathy for either
Mary was outdone by neither.
Thus far, for a happy space,
All three ran an even race,
A most constant friendship proving,
Equally beloved and loving;
All their wishes, joys, the same;
Sisters only not in name.

Fortune upon each one smiled,
As upon a favourite child;
Well to do and well to see
Were the parents of all three;
Till on Martha's father crosses
Brought a flood of worldly losses
And his fortunes rich and great
Changed at once to low estate;
Under which o'erwhelming blow
Martha's mother was laid low;
She a hapless orphan left,
Of maternal care bereft,
Trouble following trouble fast,
Lay in a sick-bed at last.

In the depth of her affliction
Martha now received conviction,
That a true and faithful friend
Can the surest comfort lend.

Night and day, with friendship tried,
Ever constant by her side
Was her gentle Mary found,
With a love that knew no bound;
And the solace she imparted
Saved her dying broken-hearted.

In this scene of earthly things
Not one good unmixed springs.
That which had to Martha proved
A sweet consolation, moved
Different feelings of regret
In the mind of Margaret.

She, whose love was not less dear,
Nor affection less sincere

To her friend, was, by occasion
Of more distant habitation,
Fewer visits forced to pay her,
When no other cause did stay her;
And her Mary living nearer,
Margaret began to fear her,
Lest her visits day by day
Martha's heart should steal away.
That whole heart she ill could spare

Where till now she'd been a sharer.
From this cause with grief she pined,
Till at length her health declined.
All her cheerful spirits flew,
Fast as Martha gather'd new;
And her sickness waxed sore,
Just when Martha felt no more.

her,

Mary, who had quick suspicion
Of her alter'd friend's condition,
Seeing Martha's convalescence
Less demanded now her presence,
With a goodness, built on reason,
Changed her measures with the season;
Turn'd her steps from Martha's door,
Went where she was wanted more;
All her care and thoughts were set
Now to tend on Margaret.

Mary living 'tween the two,
From her home could oft'ner go,
Either of her friends to see,
Than they could together be.

Truth explain'd is to suspicion
Evermore the best physician.
Soon her visits had the effect;
All that Margaret did suspect
From her fancy vanish'd clean;
She was soon what she had been,
And the colour she did lack

To her faded cheek came back.
Wounds which love had made her feel,
Love alone had power to heal.

Martha, who the frequent visit
Now had lost, and sore did miss it,
With impatience waxed cross,
Counted Margaret's gain her loss:
All that Mary did confer

On her friend, thought due to her.
In her girlish bosom rise
Little foolish jealousies,

Which into such rancour wrought,
She one day for Margaret sought;
Finding her by chance alone,
She began, with reason shown,
To insinuate a fear

Whether Mary was sincere;

Wish'd that Margaret would take heed
Whence her actions did proceed.
For herself, she'd long been minded
Not with outsides to be blinded;
All that pity and compassion
She believed was affectation;
In her heart she doubted whether

Mary cared a pin for either.

She could keep whole weeks at distance,

And not know of their existence,

While all things remain'd the same;

But, when some misfortune came,

Then she made a great parade
Of her sympathy and aid-
Not that she did really grieve,
It was only make-believe;

And she cared for nothing, so
She might her fine feelings show,
And get credit, on her part,
For a soft and tender heart.

With such speeches, smoothly made She found methods to persuade Margaret (who, being sore

From the doubts she'd felt before,
Was prepared for mistrust)
To believe her reasons just;
Quite destroy'd that comfort glad,
Which in Mary late she had;
Made her, in experience's spite,
Think her friend a hypocrite,
And resolve, with cruel scoff,
To renounce and cast her off.

See how good turns are rewarded! She of both is now discarded,

Who to both had been so late

Their support in low estate,
All their comfort, and their stay-
Now of both is cast away.

But the league her presence cherish'd,
Losing its best prop, soon perish'd;
She, that was a link to either,
To keep them and it together,
Being gone, the two (no wonder)
That were left soon fell asunder;
Some civilities were kept,

But the heart of friendship slept;
Love with hollow forms was fed
But the life of love lay dead:
A cold intercourse they held,
After Mary was expell'd.

Two long years did intervene
Since they'd either of them seen,
Or, by letter, any word

Of their old companion heard-
When, upon a day, once walking,
Of indifferent matters talking,
They a female figure met;
Martha said to Margaret,