Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true; The love which you felt was the love of a brother,...
Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who to woman deny the soul's future existence, Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance....
He who, sublime, in epic numbers roll'd, And he who struck the softer lyre of Love, By Death's unequal[1] hand alike controul'd, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!