Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/192

Rh

A cold reception from thy relatives. Oh, there's a germ in every human breast, That buds anew when absent friends return. Thou 'lt bring with thee blissful remembrances Of times long past, of love, and hope, and joy; And though a scorching sun, a blighting wind, May have converted to an arid sand The soil where flow'rets sprang, they' ll bloom again, A second spring of tender, calm delights. What, if whilst I have wander'd, sunk in grief, Struggling with poverty, and wrinkled cares Feeding upon my bloom, wasting my limbs With premature decay, my friends have soared To fortune's topmost height; will they embrace The squalid wretch that sues to them for bread, Brings them no guerdon, save a broken heart, Shrined in a tenement of withered clay? Thou wilt be dearer for thy sufferings; They 'll pour their golden treasures at thy feet,