On Writing

Bless'd be the man, his memory at least, That found the art, thus to unfold his breast, And taught succeeding times an easy way, Their secret thoughts by letters to convey; To baffle absence, and secure delight, Which, till that time, was limited to sight; The parting farewell spoke the last adieu, The less'ning distance past, then loss of view; The friend was gone, which some kind moments gave, And absence separated like the grave. When for a wife the youthful Patriarch sent, The camels, jewels, and a servant went, And wealthy equipage, tho' grave and slow, But not a line that might the lover shew. The rings and bracelets woo'd her hands and arms; But had she known of melting words the charms, That under secret seals in ambush lie, To catch the soul when drawn into the eye, The fair Assyrian had not took his guide, Nor her soft heart in chains of hair been ti'd.