One simple effort more, and then farewell
The tuneful cadence and the measured strain;
Then sleep, for ever sleep, my vocal shell,
For thou hast sounded; I have sung in vain!
A few sad numbers more to grief belong;
Friendship’s loved name should once more grace my lay,
And gratitude’s, whose fondly-melting tongue
Still loves to mention what she cannot pay.
When one fond hope has long the heart amused,
And many a year supplied its darling theme,
O’er all its clouds the softest light diffused,
In all its sunshine lent the brightest beam;
Should such a hope, so tender and so dear,
Though fond and foolish, from that heart be torn,
How the frame shudders at the wound severe,
How sinks the soul in helpless anguish lorn!
How all its sunshine sickens into shade,
While every cloud assumes a deeper dye!
Ah me, my feelings need not fancy’s aid—
That woe-struck frame, that sinking mind have I.
Say, will Amanda lend a patient ear
(While thus her melancholy friend complains),
Whose wishes rise above this changeful sphere,
Whose hopes are fixed where endless sunshine reigns?
Yes, though herself the noblest path has trod,
And, heaven-directed, ’scaped each wildering maze,
The breast that bleeds beneath affliction’s rod,
She still will pity, though she cannot praise.
When on the couch of sickness pale I lay,
Disease infectious threatening deaths around,
In vain, to fright my generous friend away,
Discretion reasoned, and contagion frowned.
Full many a night she watched that couch beside,
With eye as mournful, look as full of care,
As if my life to thousands health supplied,
As if my death would damp the general cheer.
Yes, ’twas that voice, whose lenient accents mild,
When yielding reason helpless dropt the rein,
Hushed my vain tremors, smoothed my questions wild,
And calmed the tumults of my erring brain.
O should the tide of still increasing grief
Quench the last quivering, intellectual ray;
Should e’er thy friend, disordered past relief,
A poor lymphatick through thy woodland stray;
Say, wouldst thou fly me?—no; too feeling maid,
Even then thy breast with sympathy would thrill;
Even then thou oft wouldst lend thy gentle aid,
And, as a brother, sometimes love me still.
Ah, dear Amanda, mayst thou still eschew
The paths of passion and affection blind!
For oft the unwary heart has cause to rue
The entire dominion of the most refined.
Still to the world superior mayst thou live,
Possessed of peace, and calm, supernal joy,
That genuine peace, which nor the world can give,
Nor all its restless turbulence destroy!
Too feeble verse to speak a grateful mind:
What but good wishes have I to repay?
May these, my friend, acceptance hope to find?
Ample the wishes, though but poor the lay.
Silent, yet zealous, those shall ever glow;
This the sharp tooth of time shall soon corode;
Those for Amanda ne’er shall cease to flow;
Conclusive this, if right my heart forbade.
Grief, gratitude, and friendship’s cordial swell
Till life’s last throb, this breast must sure retain,
Yet sleep, for ever sleep, my vocal shell,
For thou hast sounded, I have sung in vain.