The sigh breathes responsive to mine;
Where my cares may obtain the soft pillow of rest,
And my sorrows may love to recline.”
Not the friend who my hours of pleasure will share,
But abide not the season of grief;
Who flies from the brow that is darken’d by care,
And the silence that looks for relief.
Not the friend who suspicious of change or of guile,
Would shrink from a confidence free;
Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile,