Dear friend, though a poor hand at rhymes, I'll try In kind to your kind verses to reply. Together we have passed some happy hours, Pleasantly loitering in the Muses’ bower;
Not with the Bards who sing of Wine and Love, But those who can the nobler Passions move To finer sympathies, and by their art Instruct, amend as well as cheer the heart!
Such Bard our COWPER. Oft his pleasing strains Have won us to forget the cares and pains The world lays on us all; WORDSWORTH the same; And other bards besides less known to fame;
Thyself, dear friend, amongst the rest. Thy rhymes Flow from a heart in tune with Nature's chimes, And breathings of Sweet Home, Domestic joys, The opening graces of thy girls and boys,
And themes like these to Nature dear please all Whose souls like ours respond to Nature's call. Nature, to whom proud Art can lend a grace, But whom if absent Art can not replace!
Take these poor lines in haste and sickness penned, As tribute from a warm and grateful friend, Who, though thy kindness he can not repay, Will ne'er forget thee, Cowherd, nor thy lay.
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