My heart has thank'd thee, BOWLES! for those soft strains, That, on the still air floating, tremblingly Wak'd in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy! For hence, not callous to a Brother's pains, Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went; And, when the darker day of life began, And I did roam, a thought-bewilder'd man! Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent, Each lonely pang, with dreamy joys combin'd, And stole from vain REGRET her scorpion stings; While shadowy PLEASURE, with mysterious wings, Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind, Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep Mov'd on the darkness of the formless Deep! S. T. C.
