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Long years of hope deceived
That conquered Swede must prove,
Patkul thou art avenged !
Long years of idleness
That restless soul must bear,

Patkul thou art avenged !
The Despot's savage anger took thy life,
Thy death has stabb’d his fame.

ERTHUSYO. LINES

TO A BROTHER AND SISTER,

Written soon after a Recovery from Sickness.

By CHARLES LLOYD.

I.

'Tis surely hard the melancholy day

To waste without the cheering voice of friend, To see the morning dart its golden ray,

To see the night in misty dews descend,

Nor catch one sound where Love and Meekness blend; 'Tis surely hard for him who knows how dear

A kindred soul, eternally to send

A fruitless prayer for smiles and words that cheer, The wish in looks revealed and rapture's holy tear,

II.

Him whom the spirit of Attachment warms,

The nameless thrilling and the soft desire,
Him whom the glance of melting beauty charms,

Its young allurement and its living fire ;

For him in tedious languor to expire,
Dreaming of bliss, yet wake to deep despair,

Fitted for love, of every joy the sire,
To drag a life of unrequited care,
For him, such-silent woe, 'tis surely hard to bear.

III.

Thank Heaven, such lot hath never yet been mine,

For if the gloom of discontent should fall And my young spirit for a season pine,

I cannot, save with gratitude, recall

Gay-painted hours of dancing festival, When new and joyous friendships bore away

All fears of what in future might befall, All recollections of uncheer'd dismay Giving to full content the heartsome holiday.

IV.

And still (with pride my heart the truth reveals) Beneath my quiet and paternal roof,

for ever meet the look that heals Pale Sorrow's. anguish with a kind reproof.

Mine eyes

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For all the prodigal regards of youth And all the sympathies of gentlest love,

And all the sweet simplicity of truth, In silent harmony for ever move Along the heaven-blest scene ordained for us to rove..

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Brothers and Sisters ! friends of infancy !

Oh how my heart rejoices when I speak Of all the sweetness of the home-bred tie,

Whose gentle charities and graces meek

Spread with a fairer hue the youthful cheek
Than blushing passions deep and fiery glow;

Yes ! it beseems that I could never seek,
My heart so turns to you, were ye to go
A new or foreign aid to mitigate the blow.

VI.

When morn first wakes me with its cheering smile

That cheering smile, it seems my friends to wear, Is friendship's charm transfused that all the while

Lives In the silent spirit of the air :

Your voices, looks, and kind enquiries bear Their living incense to each gladdened view,

And all that beams around so gay and fair Is Love's officious toil, that paints anew lach form that looks like life with no térrestrial htać.

VII.

And when meek evening glides athwart the sky

And drowsy silence hangs upon the earth,
Save that some distant hum which breathes to die,

May chance from haunts of bacchanalian mirth

To meet his ear who sadly wandering forth Courts every hinting of departed bliss;

Yes, when meek evening glides, there spring to birth Thousand dear images of happiness, The Brother's honest grasp, the Sister's holy kiss.

VII.

And most to you my two beloved friends!

My Sister, and my Brother, most to you My heart its cordial gratulation sends ;

Olivia, Robert, friends both tried and true!

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