Addressed To Mr.- - - Poem by Susan Evance

WITH sighs I quit the social throng-
Ah friend belov'd! where shall I find
The virtues that to thee belong;
Thy noble, pure, exalted mind!

Where shall I those mild manners meet,
Warm'd by benevolence so kind;
That conversation ever sweet,
Improving, elegant, refin'd!

Ah! often musing fancy strays
Back to those days to mem'ry dear,
Those calm, delightful, happy days,
Which pass'd so swift- when you were here.

I love to recollect the time
When list'ning to your converse wise,

Its holy eloquence sublime
Rais'd my rapt spirit to the skies:
How often in this forest scene,
Now sacred made, and doubly dear,
Devotion's flame, tho' warm, serene,
Has swell'd the bright transporting tear!

Ah tears more sweet than smiles of joy!
Ah hours far more than mirth belov'd!
Oft shall it be my blest employ
To trace the raptures ye have prov'd.

Thou, dearest Friend! whose path extends
Through other scenes, remote from these;
Whom, still pursuing noble ends
In active goodness, duty sees;

Proceed along thy virtuous way-
And teach th' admiring world to find
Within thy useful life's display,
The greatness of a Christian's mind.

In happiness domestic blest,
And ev'ry social comfort, shine.-
Here, treasur'd deep in friendship's breast,
Her warmest, tenderest thoughts are thine.