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For often had cold rigour harshly doom'd,
The buds of promise withering e'er they bloom'd.
And glanc'd with stern regard a chilling eye,
Upon a mind that shrunk it knew not why.
And thou alone didst guide a timorous mind,
Wise as a teacher, as a parent kind;
With careful hand its wayward course withheld,
Allur'd, not forc'd, encourag'd, not compell'd;
The shrinking eye look'd up, the soul was cheer'd,
Felt as it learnt, confided e'er it fear'd;
And first by emulation's ardour mov'd,
Prest onward in the path which soon it lov'd.
Those intellectual joys by thee were shown,
Which charm when youth's light giddiness is gone,
And haply but for thee, ah, never had I known.
A plant of feeble stem thou would'st not break,
Or bruise its buds because their bloom was weak,
Or blight it with a cold and cheerless shade,
Or scorn it, tho' it rose from lowly bed.
But propt its humble stalk with kindest care,
Rais'd its wan buds to feel a fresher air,
And o'er its narrow leaves and bending head,
The dews of knowledge and of virtue shed.
Gave to its shrinking root a firmer soil,
Though its scant foliage scarce repaid the toil;
And now of stature frail, and low degree,
More rude and worthless, than it ought to be,
It turns to him who first its soil renew'd,
