To a Friend

 Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng! 
Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears; 
To busy phantasies, and boding fears, 
Lest ill betide thee; but 't will not be long 
Ere the hard season shall be past; till then 
Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade 
Remembering, and these trees now left to fade; 
Nor, mid the busy scenes and hum of men, 
Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness 
To me the hours shall roll, weary and slow, 
Till mournful autumn past, and all the snow 
Of winter pale, the glad hour I shall bless 
That shall restore thee from the crowd again, 
To the green hamlet on the peaceful plain.

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