"Chapelle henceforward less admire,
Reiterated rhymes they tire;
Those strings of syllables displayed
By Richelet, ill a poet aid;
That author's dictionary gleaning,
In double rhymes you'll have no meaning."
In this agreeable company I met the President de Maisons, a man of a very different character, not at all used to utter words without a meaning; a man as solid as agreeable, and equally a lover of all the arts.
"Dear Maisons, is it thee I then embrace?"
Cried I, while trickling tears bedewed my face;
"Thou who wast snatched from me by cruel death,
Who in my arms when young resigned thy breath.
Deaf to my prayer, inexorable fate
Was bent two dearest friends to separate;
Ah! since its rigor either death required,
Thou shouldst have lived, and I should have expired.
Since my sad eyes first opened on the sphere,
'Twas heaven's decree I should be wretched here;
Thy path of life by heaven was strewed with flowers,
And heart-felt joy winged all thy golden hours.
With pleasures and with honors compassed round,
In arts your wisdom full contentment found;
Weakness is not of worth, like thine the source.
O'er such a mind opinion ne'er had force;
Man's born to err, the potter's forming hand,
Soft earth is far less able to withstand,
Than can the mind resist the potent sway
Of prejudice, which mortals still obey.
