Portland Gazette, And Maine Advertiser

POETRY.

TO SYMPATHY.

Thou noblest inmate of the human breast
With native ardor in my bosom glow;
For thou canst lull the troubled mind to rest,
And mitigate the keenest pangs of woe.

When humbled by affliction's power we lie
Forlorn, no hope or sorrow's to relieve :
The beam that flows from mild compassion's eye,
At least a temporary balm can give.

Should fortune, with penurious hand, deny
Wealth. that receding comforts might restore;
Yet still the soothing voice of sympathy
Can soothe adversity's depressive power.

With genuine ardor I can never greet,
Those who, unmov'd, a scene of woe can view !
And with a cold indifferent aspect meet
Those eyes, which tears of anguish still bedew.

Let the proud Stoic, whose obdurate heart
Untouch'd, the tale of misery can hear;
Whose austere brow no rays of hope impart,
The spirits of the drooping wretch to cheer;

Enjoy his boasted apathy of mind,
And the divine sensations never know ;
Still homage pay at torpid Zeno's shrine,
Nor taste the rapturous joy thou canst bestow.

From such unfeeling natures sad I turn,
Far from such selfish souls disgusted fly:
With cold contempt the frigid bosom spurn,
That never felt the joys of sympathy.