Dear honest race! though now we meet no more, One last long look on what we were before-- Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu-- Drew tears from eyes unus'd to weep with you. Through splendid circles, Fashion's gaudy world, Where Folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd, 190 I plung'd to drown in noise my fond regret, And all I sought or hop'd was to forget: Vain wish! if, chance, some well-remember'd face, Some old companion of my early race, Advanc'd to claim his friend with honest joy, My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy; The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around, Were quite forgotten when my friend was found; The smiles of Beauty, (for, alas! I've known What 'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne;) 200 The smiles of Beauty, though those smiles were dear, Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near: My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise, The woods of IDA danc'd before my eyes; I saw the sprightly wand'rers pour along, I saw, and join'd again the joyous throng; Panting, again I trac'd her lofty grove, And Friendship's feelings triumph'd over Love.
Yet, why should I alone with such delight Retrace the circuit of my former flight? 210 Is there no cause beyond the common claim, Endear'd to all in childhood's very name? Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here, Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear To one, who thus for kindred hearts must roam, And seek abroad, the love denied at home. Those hearts, dear IDA, have I found in thee, A home, a world, a paradise to me. Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share The tender guidance of a Father's care; 220 Can Rank, or e'en a Guardian's name supply The love, which glistens in a Father's eye? For this, can Wealth, or Title's sound atone, Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own? What Brother springs a Brother's love to seek? What Sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek? For me, how dull the vacant moments rise, To no fond bosom link'd by kindred ties! Oft, in the progress of some fleeting dream, Fraternal smiles, collected round me seem; 230 While still the visions to my heart are prest, The voice of Love will murmur in my rest: I hear--I wake--and in the sound rejoice! I hear again,--but, ah! no Brother's voice. A Hermit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way; While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine, I cannot call one single blossom mine: What then remains? in solitude to groan, To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone? 240 Thus, must I cling to some endearing hand, And none more dear, than IDA'S social band.