TO A FRIEND.

By William Lisle Bowles

Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng!

Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears;

To busy phantasies, and boding fears,

Lest ill betide thee; but‘ twill not be long

Ere the hard season shall be past; till then

Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade

Remembering, and these trees now left to fade;

Nor,‘ mid the busy scenes and hum of men,

Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness

To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow,

Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow

Of winter pale, the glad hour I shall bless

That shall restore thee from the crowd again,

To the green hamlet on the peaceful plain.