Verses Sent to a Friend

The languid heart, that hath been ever nurst

By strains of drowsy sweetness, ill can brook
The rude rough music that at times doth burst
From him whose thoughts are treasured in this book.
It was his lot to live in days uncouth
That shrink from aught so hard and stern as truth.

I know my generous friend too well to fear

This holy gift will be unsafe with thee;
Thou never yet hast had the heart to sneer

At the eccentric feats of chivalry,
And well I know there are cold men who deem
This saintly cause a weak knight-errant's dream.

When thou hast marked him well, thine eye will trace

Lines deep and steadfast, features grave and bold,
Beauty austere arid masculine, a face

And stalwart form wrought in an antique mould;
And if some shades too broad and coarse be thrown,
Tis where the age hath marred the block of stone!