Classic Poem

Of friendship's sacred theme to thee I sing—
Hast seen the ivy round the woodbine cling?
Thus like the ivy would I cling to thee—
A friendship pure;—wilt thou my woodbine be?

Come then, I bid thee welcome to this heart,
For thou indeed a kindred spirit art;
In this bright world the pleasing task be ours
To make more happy all the passing hours.

Roses indeed we cannot always find,
Or with them thorns—or noxious leaves be twined;
But in our path were cankered thorns not strewn,
We should forget that earth was not our home.

Dark clouds have sometimes veiled thy sunny sky,
And stormy winds passed fiercely, threatening by;
Thy nature sensitive to each alarm
Has calmly borne the shock of every storm.

Adieu! thou leav'st us for the smiling west,
And thou wilt gaze on the Ohio's breast,
The verdant hills, the woodlands green and fair;
But thou wilt see no rolling prairies there.

Thou sayest a forest hath a charm for thee—
'Tis noble,—yet a prairie wild for me—
Ah, well! I know 'mid birds and blossoms gay
The summer hours will sweetly pass away.

Now soars my muse on airy pinions bright,
But hark! she bids me whisper thee good night;
Thy faithful friend I truthfully subscribe,
And hope our friendship may for ever live.