"I often, however, cast a look of fond regret to the darling
occupations of my younger hours, and the tears rush into my eyes,
as I fancy I see the few wild flowers of poetic genius, with which
I have been blessed, withering with neglect. Poetry has been to me
something more than amusement; it has been a cheering companion
when I have had no other to fly to, and a delightful solace when
consolation has been in some measure needful. I cannot, therefore,
discard so old and faithful a friend without deep regret,
especially when I reflect that, stung by my ingratitude, he may
desert me for ever!"

But the old fire was, he adds, rekindled by looking over some of
his pieces which Mr. Lofft wished to print; and he transmitted to
that gentleman a short Poem, expressive of his sorrow at taking
leave of his favourite pursuit. The following passages could only
have arisen from a love of Poetry, which it was not in the power
of severer studies to extinguish:

Heart-soothing Poesy! Though thou hast ceased
To hover o'er the many voiced strings
Of my long silent lyre, yet thou canst still
Call the warm tear from its thrice hallow'd cell,
And with recalled images of bliss
Warm my reluctant heart. Yes, I would throw,
Once more would throw, a quick and hurried hand
O'er the responding chords. It hath not ceased,
It cannot, will not cease; the heavenly warmth
Plays round my heart, and mantles o'er my cheek;
Still, though unbidden, plays. Fair Poesy!