To Thaddeus.

A poem by Thomas Gent

Farewell! loved youth, for still I hold thee dear,
Though thou hast left me friendless and alone;
Still, still thy name recals the heartfelt tear,
That hastes MATILDA to her wish'd-for home.

Why leave the wretch thy perfidy hath made,
To journey cheerless through the world's wide waste?
Say, why so soon does all thy kindness fade,
And doom me, thus, affliction's cup to taste?

Ungen'rous deed! to fly the faithful maid
Who, for thy arms, abandon'd every friend;
Oh! cruel thought, that virtue, thus betray'd,
Should feel a pang that death alone can end.

Yet I'll not chide thee--And when hence you roam,
Should my sad fate one tear of pity move,
Ah! then return! this bosom's still thy home,
And all thy failings I'll repay with love.

Believe me, dear, at midnight, or at morn,
In vain exhausted nature strives to rest,
Thy absence plants my pillow with a thorn,
And bids me hope no more, on earth, for rest.

But if unkindly you refuse to hear,
And from despair thy poor MATILDA have;
Ah! don't deny one tributary tear,
To glisten sweetly o'er my early grave.

MATILDA.