Sweet is the smile that plays upon the face; Beauteous the ray that from the kindling eye Darts; if the sprightly jest, the keen reply, In amicable strife, eccentric, chase— Like Boreal corruscations: but the race Is run; is ENDED! — Down, officious sigh! Suggesting ever that I cease to spy Fancy's bright flash — thro' Candour's modest grace! For comfort lost — from friend to friend I roam; Ah! why should taste so foolishly refine? Amaz'd — fatigu'd — I seek my jealous dome; No Lares there, alas! propitious shine!— Illum'd — then banish'd — to thy hateful HOME, Poor — poor OMAI — what a fate was thine! Nov. 10.
