Such was our host; and tho', since then,
Slight clouds have risen 'twixt him and me,
Who would not grasp such hand again,
Stretched forth again in amity?
Who can, in this short life, afford
To let such mists a moment stay,
When thus one frank, atoning word,
Like sunshine, melts them all away?
Bright was our board that day--tho' _one_
Unworthy brother there had place;
As 'mong the horses of the Sun,
One was, they say, of earthly race.
Yet, _next_ to Genius is the power
Of feeling where true Genius lies;
And there was light around that hour
Such as, in memory, never dies;
Light which comes o'er me as I gaze,
Thou Relic of the Dead, on thee,
Like all such dreams of vanisht days,
Brightly, indeed--but mournfully!
[1] Soon after Mr. Crabbe's death, the sons of that gentleman did me the
honor of presenting to me the inkstand, pencil, etc., which their
distinguished father had long been in the habit of using.
[2] The lines that follow allude to a day passed in company with Mr.
Crabbe, many years since, when a party, consisting only of Mr. Rogers, Mr.
Crabbe, and the author of these verses, had the pleasure of dining with
Mr. Thomas Campbell, at his house at Sydenham.
TO CAROLINE, VISCOUNTESS VALLETORT.
WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 1832.
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