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Eye fix'd on heaven, or page with error stain'd,
Does memory smile, or is thy conscience pain'd?
Of all thy wanderings, view the vast amount:
This is the emblem of thy last account.
THE PARTING FRIEND.
FAIR on the bosom of the Spring,
The trembling flow'ret glows,
But passing storms are on the wing
To chill it ere it blows.
Yet though beneath the verdant spray,
The dew-drops seek to hide,
Before the sun's meridian ray,
Those glittering gems are dried.
And such has been our transient glance,
As sweet, as quickly flown,
A smile, a word, a friendly wish,
And all is clos'd and gone:
