Poem by William Lisle Bowles

To a Friend

Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng!
Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears;
To busy phantasies, and boding fears,
Lest ill betide thee; but 't will not be long
Ere the hard season shall be past; till then
Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade
Remembering, and these trees now left to fade;
Nor, mid the busy scenes and hum of men,
Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness
To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow,
Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow
Of winter pale, the glad hour I shall bless
That shall restore thee from the crowd again,
To the green hamlet on the peaceful plain.

1. Netley Abbey
2. Sonnet 14. On a Distant View of England
3. Sonnet 1. As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side
4. Sonnet 5. To the River Tweed
5. Sonnet 9. O Poverty!

John Pierpont To a Friend ("Friend of my dark and solitary hour")

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