THE FRIENDS OF MAN. 155

That page hath gold, and a way I'll find

To lock it safe in your docile mind ;

For books have honey, the sages say,

That is sweet to the taste when the hair is grey."

The youth at midnight sought his bed,

But, ere he closed his eyes, Two forms drew near with gentle tread,

In meek and saintly guise, One struck a lyre of wondrous power,

With thrilling music fraught, That chain'd the flying summer hour,

And charm 'd the listener's thought ; For still would its tender cadence be,

" Follow me ! Follow me ! And every morn a smile shall bring, As sweet as the merry lay I sing."

She ceas'd, and with a serious air

The other made reply, " Shall he not also be my care ? May not I his journey share ?

Sister ! sister ! tell me why ? Need Memory e'er with Hope contend ? Doth not the virtuous soul still find in both a friend ? "

The youth beheld the strife, And eagerly replied,

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