Ah! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams,
       &nbspIn archéd groves, the youthful poet's choice;
Nor while half-listening, 'mid delicious dreams,
       &nbspTo harp and song from lady's hand and voice;

Not yet while gazing in sublimer mood
       &nbspOn cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;
Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strewed.
       &nbspFraming wild fancies to the ocean's swell;

Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings,
       &nbspAnd sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark!
Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings,
       &nbspNow groans, and shivers, the replunging bark!

'Cling to the shrouds!' In vain! The breakers roar—
       &nbspDeath shrieks! With two alone of all his clan
Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,
       &nbspNo classic roamer, but a shipwrecked man!

Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains,
       &nbspAnd lit his spirit to so bright a flame?
The elevating thought of suffered pains,
       &nbspWhich gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the name

Of gratitude! remembrances of friend,
       &nbspOr absent or no more! shades of the Past,
Which Love makes substance! Hence to thee I send,
       &nbspO dear as long as life and memory last!

I send with deep regards of heart and head,
       &nbspSweet maid, for friendship formed! this work to thee:
And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
       &nbspA tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.