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So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the
shore, “ Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,'” And thy lov'd consort on the dang’rous tide Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distress'dMe howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course. Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not, that I deduce
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
WHAT virtue, or what mental
Will boast it their possession?
And dulness of discretion.
If ev'ry polish'd gem we find,
Provoke to imitation;
Or rather constellation.
No knave but boldly will pretend
A real and a sound one;
Nor any fool, he would deceive,
prove as ready to believe,
And dream that he had found one.
Candid, and generous, and just,
An errour soon corrected
For who but learns in riper years,
Is most to be suspected?
But here again a danger lies,
And taken trash for treasure,
A mere Utopian pleasure.
An acquisition rather rare
Nor is it wise complaining,
We sought without attaining.
No friendship will abide the test,
Or mean self-love erected;
For vicious ends connected.
Who seek a friend should come dispos'd
T' exhibit in full bloom disclos'd
The graces and the beauties, That forin the character he seeks, For 'tis a union, that bespeaks
Mutual attention is implied,
And constantly supported;
Our own as much distorted.
But will sincerity suffice?
And must be made the basis:
But ev'ry virtue of the soul
All shining in their places.