ground—             To make those entangling bind-weeds decay, Drive Suspicion, who rear'd them, for ever away, And leave all around, kind, and healthful, and gay!           

             When this can be compass'd, I'll build me a bower, And twine in the trellice each sweet-scented flower—             Rare, delicate plants, whose large, fresh leaves shall fling Green shadows, where birds in the stillness may sing.           

             A place of repose, when the spirit is faint, And the heart wants to utter a passing complaint:             Of safety; for pure and serene be the air, And nothing unkind or unholy be there!           

             In this sacred retreat I my cares would confide, And there my half-forming opinions should hide; If true, gather strength for the brightness of day—             If false, in the shade, unreprov'd, die away!           

             How fondly I nourish'd these hopes, but in vain! The calm and the stillness I could not retain; My Hour fled away, every wish unfulfill'd, And warm'd not the Friendship Suspicion had chill'd!           

            

            

       XVII.     

       LINES     

 Sent to a Brother on his leaving England.     

       May 2, 1816.     

       FANCIFUL BOUQUET.     

 Hopes all glowing, Wishes rare,           

 Blessings mixed with many a Prayer,           

 Prev. P 22/47 next