A Faithful Friend is the Medicine of Life. SON OF SIRACH. Mary Tighe (née Blachford) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Tighe, Mary, 1772-1810. Psyche, With Other Poems. London Printed for LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW 1811 pp. 248-250. 314p.

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A Faithful Friend is the Medicine of Life . SON OF SIRACH . IN the dreams of delight , which with ardour we seek , Oft the phantom of sorrow appears ; And the roses of pleasure , which bloom in your cheek , Must be steeped in the dew of your tears : 'Mid the fountain of bliss , when it sparkles most bright , Salt mixtures embitter the spring , Though its lustre may tremble through bowers of delight , In the draught disappointment will sting . But if Heaven hath one cup of enjoyment bestowed , Unmingled and sweet as its own , In the streams of affection its bounty hath flowed , And there we may taste it alone . But the pure simple drops Love would seize as his prize And defile them with passion's foul tide ; While the bowl he prepares as it dazzles our eyes The poison of anguish can hide . Let Friendship the stream , as it flows calm and clear , Receive unpolluted for me ; Or if tenderness mingle a sigh or a tear , The draught still the sweeter will be . But let me reject the too-high flavoured bowl Affectation or Flattery compose , From Sincerity's urn thus transparent shall roll The cordial of peace and repose . Oh ! give me the friend , from whose warm , faithful breast The sigh breathes responsive to mine , Where my cares may obtain the soft pillow of rest , And my sorrows may love to recline . Not the friend who my hours of pleasure will share , But abide not the season of grief ; Who flies from the brow that is darkened by care , And the silence that looks for relief . Not the friend who , suspicious of change or of guile , Would shrink from a confidence free ; Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile On the eye that looks coldly on me , As the mirror that , just to each blemish or grace , To myself will my image reflect , But to none but myself will that image retrace , Nor picture one absent defect . To my soul let my friend be a mirror as true , Thus my faults from all others conceal ; Nor , absent , those failings or follies renew , Which from Heaven and from man he should veil .