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9.

FRIENDSHIP.

Hope not to find
A friend, but what has found a friend in thee;
All like the purchase, few the price will pay;
And this makes friends such miracles below.

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

The friendships of the world are oft
Confed'racies in vice, or leagues in pleasure.

ADDISON'S Cato.

10. Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society,
I owe thee much! thou hast deserv'd of me
Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.

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11. And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep?
A sound that follows wealth and fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep.

BLAIR'S Grave.

GOLDSMITH'S Hermit.

12. Friendship is not a plant of hasty growth;
Though planted in esteem's deep fixed soil,
The gradual culture of kind intercourse
Must bring it to perfection.

13.

Thou art the friend,

JOANNA BAILLIE.

To whom the shadows of long years extend.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

14. Though human, thou didst not deceive me,

Though woman, thou didst not forsake,
Though lov'd, thou forborest to grieve me,
Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake.
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me,
Though parted, it was not to fly,
Though watchful, 't was not to defame me,
Nor mute, that the world might belie.

BYRON.

15. He, who, malignant, tears an absent friend,
Or, when attack'd by others, don't defend,
Who friendship's secrets knows not to conceal-
That man is vile.

FRANCIS' Horace.

16. A generous friendship no cold medium knows,

Burns with one warmth, with one resentment glows;
One must our union, our resentment be,

My friend must hate the man who injures me.

17. How much to be priz'd and esteem'd is a friend,
On whom we can always with safety depend!
Our joys, when extended, will always increase,
And griefs, when divided, are hush'd into peace.
MRS. MARGARET SMITH.

18. Oh, friendship! thou balm and sweet'ner of life!
Kind parent of ease, and composer of strife!
Without thee, alas! what are riches and power,
But empty delusions, the joy of an hour?

19.

When our lives

MRS. MARGARET SMITH.

Were link'd in one, and our young hearts bloom'd out,
Like violet bells upon the self-same stem,
Pouring the dewy odours of life's spring
Into each other's bosoms.

20. Friends my soul with joy remembers! How like.quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers

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B. B. THATCHER.

H. W. LONGFellow.

21. Yes, the summer of life passes quickly away,

Soon the winter of age sheds its snow on the heart; But the warm sun of Friendship, that gilded youth's day, Shall still thro' the dark clouds a soft ray impart.

A. GIBBS.

292

FRUITS-FUNERAL, &c.

22. Sweet lady, wilt thou think of me

When Friendship's flowers are round thee wreathing,
And Love's delirious flattery

Within thy ear is softly breathing?
O, let my friendship, in the wreath,
Though but a bud among the flowers,
Its sweetest fragrance round thee breathe-
"T will serve to soothe thy weary hours.

MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.

23. In after years,-when thou, perchance,
As thoughts of Auld Lang Syne arise,
'Midst other scenes shalt cast a glance

Along these pages, should thine eyes
Rest on this tribute-think of me-
Think kindly, as I shall of thee.

FRUITS. (See FLOWERS.)

J. T. WATSON.

FUNERAL-MOURNING

1. Do not for ever, with thy veiled lids,

Seek for thy noble father in the dust;

WIDOW.

Thou know'st 't is common; all that live, must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

SHAKSPEARE.

2. Why is the hearse with 'scutcheons blazon'd round,
And with the nodding plumes of ostrich crown'd?
No: the dead know it not, nor profit gain;
It only serves to prove the living vain.

GAY'S Trivia.

BARON.

7. They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.

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The fools, who flock'd to swell or see the show,
Who cared about the corpse? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the woe.

BYRON'S Vision of Judgment.

5. Groans and convulsions, and discolour'd faces,
Friends weeping round us, blacks, and obsequies,
Make death a dreadful thing; the pomp of death
Is far more terrible than death itself.

6. Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man
She drops; whilst busy meddling memory,
In barbarous succession, musters up
The past endearments of their softer hours,
Tenacious of the theme.

NAT. LEE.

BLAIR'S Grave.

7. Thus, day by day, and month by month, we pass'd;

It pleas'd the Lord to take my spouse at last.

I tore my gown, I soil'd my locks with dust,

And beat my breasts-as wretched widows must:
Before my face my handkerchief I spread,

To hide the flood of tears I didnot shed.

POPE.

8. What though no friends in sable weeds appear,

Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year?

And bear about the mockery of woe

To midnight dances, and the public show!

9. Death's seneschal! 't is thine to trace For each his proper look and place;

How aunts should weep, where uncles stand.

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POPE.

HON. N. BIDDLE's Ole to Bogle.

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10. See him erect, with lofty tread,

The dark scarf streaming from his head,
Lead forth his groups, in order meet,
And range them grief-wise in the street-
Presiding o'er the solemn show,

The very Chesterfield of woe!

HON. N. BIDDLE's Ode to Bogle.

11. Let widows, anxious to fulfil

(For the first time) the dear man's will,

Lovers and lawyers ill at ease,

For bliss deferr'd, or loss of fees,
Or heirs, impatient of delay,
Chafe inly at his formal stay;

The Bogle heeds not: firm and true,
Resolv'd to give the dead his due,
No jot of honour will he bate,
Nor stir towards the church-yard gate,
Till the last person is at hand,

And every hat has got its band.

HON. N. BIDDLE's Ode to Bogle.

12. Ere death had quite stricken the bloom from her cheek,
Or worn off the smoothness and gloss of her brow,
When our quivering lips her dear name could not speak,
And our hearts vainly strove to God's judgment to bow,
He estrang'd himself from us, and cheerfully then
Sought out a new object, and wedded again.

J. H. BRIGHT.

13. Nature doth mourn for thee. There is no need
For man to strike his plaintive lyre and fail,
As fail he must if he attempts thy praise.

MRS. L. H. SIGourney.

FUTURITY. - (See ETERNITY.)

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