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My heart has thank'd thee, BOWLES! for those soft strains, That, on the still air floating, tremblingly Wak'd in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy! For hence, not callous to a Brother's pains

Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went; And, when the darker day of life began, And I did roam, a thought-bewilder'd man! Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent,

Each lonely pang with dreamy joys combin'd, And stole from vain REGRET her scorpion stings; While shadowy PLEASURE, with mysterious wings, Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind,

Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep Mov'd on the darkness of the formless Deep!