Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/62

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POEMS.
Or should some Syren drop her mask,Whose arts had made your soul her slave,Oh! then, my Charles, be mine the taskTo ease the pain, which others gave.
As o'er the sky does Solar LightAt morn diffuse a brilliant blaze,So Love and Fame with splendour brightGild Man-the-Pilgrim's youthful days:
But when those splendours disappear,And night and grief their place assume,Mild rises Friendship's Moon, to chearAnd guide the Wanderer through the gloom.
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