You can scarcely conceive what uneasiness poor Tom's accident has occasioned me; in everything that relates to him I feel solicitude truly fraternal. Be particular concerning him in your next. I was going to write him an half-angry letter for the long intermission of his correspondence; but I must change it to a consolatory one. You mention not a word of Bessy. Think you I do not love her?
And so, my dear Mrs. Evans, you are to take your Welsh journey in May? Now may the Goddess of Health, the rosy-cheeked goddess that blows the breeze from the Cambrian mountains, renovate that dear old lady, and make her young again! I always loved that old lady's looks. Yet do not flatter yourselves, that you shall take this journey _tête-à-tête_. You will have an unseen companion at your side, one who will attend you in your jaunt, who will be present at your arrival; one whose heart will melt with unutterable tenderness at your maternal transports, who will climb the Welsh hills with you, who will feel himself happy in knowing you to be so. In short, as St. Paul says, though absent in body, I shall be present in mind. Disappointment? You must not, you shall not be disappointed; and if a poetical invocation can help you to drive off that ugly foe to happiness here it is for you.
Hence! thou fiend of gloomy sway, Thou lov'st on withering blast to ride O'er fond Illusion's air-built pride. Sullen Spirit! Hence! Away!
Where Avarice lurks in sordid cell, Or mad Ambition builds the dream, Or Pleasure plots th' unholy scheme There with Guilt and Folly dwell!
But oh! when Hope on Wisdom's wing Prophetic whispers pure delight, Be distant far thy cank'rous blight, Demon of envenom'd sting.
Then haste thee, Nymph of balmy gales! Thy poet's prayer, sweet May! attend! Oh! place my parent and my friend 'Mid her lovely native vales.
Peace, that lists the woodlark's strains, Health, that breathes divinest treasures, Laughing Hours, and Social Pleasures Wait my friend in Cambria's plains.
Affection there with mingled ray Shall pour at once the raptures high Of filial and maternal Joy; Haste thee then, delightful May!
And oh! may Spring's fair flowerets fade, May Summer cease her limbs to lave In cooling stream, may Autumn grave Yellow o'er the corn-cloath'd glade;