To the Rev. W. L. Bowles

My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft strains,         That, on the still air floating, tremblingly         Wak'd in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy! For hence, not callous to a Brother's pains Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went;         And, when the darker day of life began,         And I did roam, a thought-bewilder'd man! Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent, Each lonely pang with dreamy joys combin'd,         And stole from vain Regret her scorpion stings;         While shadowy Pleasure, with mysterious wings, Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind, Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep Mov'd on the darkness of the formless Deep! [SECOND VERSION] My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft strains         Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring         Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring! For hence not callous to the mourner's pains Through Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went:         And when the mightier Throes of mind began,         And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man, Their mild and manliest melancholy lent A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd         To slumber, though the big tear it renew'd;         Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood Over the wavy and tumultuous mind, As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep Mov'd on the darkness of the unform'd deep.