My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft strains,
        That, on the still air floating, tremblingly
        Wak'd in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy!
For hence, not callous to a Brother's pains

Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went;
        And, when the darker day of life began,
        And I did roam, a thought-bewilder'd man!
Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent,

Each lonely pang with dreamy joys combin'd,
        And stole from vain Regret her scorpion stings;
        While shadowy Pleasure, with mysterious wings,
Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind,

Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep
Mov'd on the darkness of the formless Deep!


[SECOND VERSION]

My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft strains
        Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring
        Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring!
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains

Through Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went:
        And when the mightier Throes of mind began,
        And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man,
Their mild and manliest melancholy lent

A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd
        To slumber, though the big tear it renew'd;
        Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood
Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,

As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep
Mov'd on the darkness of the unform'd deep.