VIII [1] 

As one who late hath lost a friend ador'd
Clings with sick pleasure to the faintest trace
Resemblance offers in another's face,
Or sadly gazing on that form deplor'd,
Would clasp the silent canvas to his breast;5
So muse I on the good I have enjoy'd,
The wretched victim of my hopes destroy'd;
On images of peace I fondly rest,
Or on the page, where weeping fancy mourns,
I love to dwell upon each tender line,10
And think the bliss once tasted still is mine,
While cheated memory to the past returns,
And, from the present, leads my shiv'ring heart
Back to those scenes from which it wept to part.


[1] EDITOR'S NOTE: "As one who late hath lost a friend ador'd" is printed as "Sonnet" in Psyche, with Other Poems (undated) and Mary, where it is titled "Sonnet" and dated "London June 1794." BACK