haunts, my scenes of joy and woe,
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe;
Our feuds dissolved, but not my friendship past,
I bless the former, and forgive the last."

The same kind, affectionate disposition can be traced in all his other
poems, together with those well-inculcated notions of God's justice,
wisdom, and mercy, of toleration and forgiveness, of hatred of falsehood
and contempt of prejudices, which never abandoned him throughout his
life.

I really pity those who could read "The Tear" without being touched by
its simple, plaintive style, written in the tenderest strain, or
"L'Amitie est l'Amour sans Ailes," or the lines to the Duke of Dorset on
leaving Harrow, or the "Prayer of Nature," or his stanzas to Lord Clare,
to Lord Delaware, to Edward Long, or his generous forgiveness of Miss
Chaworth; or, again, his lines on believing that he was going to die,
his answer to a poem called "The Common Lot," his reply to Dr. Beecher,
and, finally, his address to a companion whose conduct obliged him to
withdraw his friendship:--

"What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share?

"In time forbear; amid the throng
No more so base a thing be seen;
No more so idly pass along;
Be something, any thing but--mean."

Since our object is to show in these effusions of a youthful mind, its
natural beauty, and not that genius which is shortly to be developed by
contact with the troubles and pains of this life, it may not be
irrelevant to our subject to give in parts, if not entirely, some of the
poems which he wrote at this time:--

THE TEAR.

"O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."--GRAY.

When Friendship or Love our sympathies move,
When truth in a glance should appear,
The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear.

Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation or fear;
Give me the soft sigh, while the soul-telling eye
Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear.

Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale,