Sonnet to Mr. William Long

BLEST be the day which bids my grief subside,
Rais'd by the sickness of my distant friend!
Blest the dear lines, so long to Hope deny'd,
By Languor's aching fingers kindly penn'd!
How keen the fear to feel his letters end,
Whose wit was my delight, whose truth my guide!
But how did joy that painful fear transcend,
When I again his well-known hand descried!
Such was the dread of new-created man,
When first he miss'd the setting orb of day;
Such the delight that thro' his bosom ran,
When he perceiv'd the reascending ray.
Ah no! his thoughts endur'd less anxious strife;
Thou, Friendship! art the sun of mental life.