Sonnet Xxviii. To Friendship

THOU! whose name too often is profaned; Whose charms celestial, few have hearts to feel; Unknown to Folly--and by Pride disdain'd! --To thy soft solace may my sorrows steal! Like the fair moon, thy mild and genuine ray Through life's long evening shall unclouded last; While pleasure's frail attachments fleet away, As fades the rainbow from the northern blast! 'Tis thine, O Nymph! with 'balmy hands to bind' The wounds inflicted in misfortune's storm, And blunt severe affliction's sharpest dart! --'Tis thy pure spirit warms my Anna's mind, Beams through the pensive softness of her form, And holds its altar--on her spotless heart!