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TRIBUTE TO AN INSTRUCTOR.
AS when an eye, accustom'd to survey
The changeful aspect of an April day,
Turns back regretful to the early dawn,
And the fair smile that dew'd the face of morn;
So I, from youth's delusions, wild and vain,
Its boasted pleasures, and its mingled pain,
Look back to childhood's fair, and pictured, scenes again.
And most I love those soft and blended shades,
Where youth just glimmers, and where childhood fades,
On which fond memory sheds a lustre, more
Than hope, or fancy, on the future pour.
Oh, deem it not intrusive, vain, or free,
That this weak lay should pour itself to thee,
Rever'd instructor, for before mine eyes,
Thine image in those vision'd scenes will rise;
And memory hastening as with filial love,
Would wreath its brow with garlands she has wove[1].
What most I prize, I first received from thee;
Knowledge till then had shewn few charms for me,
