A Temple to Friendship

“a Temple to Friendship,” cried Laura, enchanted, “I ’ll build in this garden; the thought is divine.” So the temple was built, and she now only wanted An image of Friendship, to place on the shrine. So she flew to the sculptor, who sat down before her An image, the fairest his art could invent; But so cold, and so dull, that the youthful adorer Saw plainly this was not the Friendship she meant. “O, never,” said she, “could I think of enshrining An image whose looks are so joyless and dim; But you little god upon roses reclining, We ’ll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of him.” So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden, She joyfully flew to her home in the grove. “Farewell,” said the sculptor, “you ’re not the first maiden Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love!”

Collection: 
1799
Sub Title: 
Poems of Friendship

More from Poet

A májusi hold csupa láng ma, szivem, lámpást visz a földi bogárka, szivem; a bércek alatt száz út csalogat, mikor álom esőz a világra, szivem! Ébredj, tündöklik az ég, gyönyöröm, üdvünk sose volna elég, gyönyöröm, s mert napja rövid legjobb, ha kicsit meglopjuk utána az éjt, gyönyöröm! Már...

GOOD reader, if you e’er have seen, When Phœbus hastens to his pillow, The mermaids with their tresses green Dancing upon the western billow; If you have seen at twilight dim, When the lone spirit’s vesper hymn Floats wild along the winding shore, The fairy train their...

Mr. Orator PUFF had two tones in his voice, The one squeaking thus, and the other down so; In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, For one half was B alt, and the rest G below. O! O! Orator Puff, One voice for an orator ’s surely enough. But he still talked away, spite...

Robert Emmet O, BREATHE not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid; Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grave o’er his head. But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with...

From “The Fire-Worshippers” “HOW sweetly,” said the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, Looking upon that moonlight flood,— “How sweetly does the moonbeam smile To-night upon yon leafy isle! Oft in my fancy’s wanderings, I ’ve wished that little...