While my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
 And I have many friends who hold me dear,
 L——! methinks, I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress
 For which my miserable brethren weep!
 But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at Death's dread moment I should lie
 With no belovéd face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing eye,
 Methinks such strains, breathed by my angel-guide,
Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,
 Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!