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To point the way to heaven. O guide belov'd,
And venerated and rever'd in life!
But thou art not; and many a year has past
Since I beheld thee, though my heart retains,
No dearer image; when that heart has sunk
Beneath the sorrows of this wayward clime,
Pierc'd with its thorns, and sick'ning at its snares,
Then has thy spirit, in the placid light
Of memory, seem'd to rise, and whisper peace;
Or in the doubtful visions of the night
Mild gleaming, bid the mourner not to droop.
'Twas ever thus; for ah! thou wert a friend
When first the journey of my life began,
And to thy last and agonizing gasp
That friendship fail'd not. Thou didst love to sooth,
And dry the causeless tear of infancy,
That dimm'd an eye just waking on the light;
And thou would'st join amid the sports and mirth
Of giddy childhood, bending low to hear
The long recital of those joys, and pains,
That swell or sink the little fluttering heart.
Small were the woes which then would force the sigh
From the rent bosom, for the strength was small
Giv'n to support them. When with heedless step
I first began to tread the flowery maze
Spread for the foot of youth, how kind the voice,
That warn'd of snares, and dangers, unperceiv'd,
