To Sir Brook Boothby

B OOTHBY ! Companion lov'd in happier day
Than either of us now can boast; — recall
The varied step! nor blame the leaves that fall
Upon your path or mine! — Our Spring was gay;
And Zephyrs breath'd around us, in the way
That Flora's mantle drest: — nor these were all
The gifts that smil'd upon us — for the ball
Of many-colour'd Life, in frolick play,
'Twas ours to catch, exchanging; — and the Muse
Would often hear us, till the Vision glow'd
With her aethereal hues. — Now, all is fled
That Love or Life endear'd: — but memory views
The scene that Fortune clos'd; — in her abode
The past contemplates — and revives the dead.
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