text:  Who loving linger'd yet to guide me When all her boon companions fled? Who stands consoling still beside me And follows to the House of Dread? _Thine_ Friendship! _thine_ the hand so tender-- Thine the balm dropping on the wound-- Thy task--the load more light to render O earliest sought and soonest found! And _thou_ so pleased with her uniting To charm the soul-storm into peace Sweet _Toil_![6] in toil itself delighting That more it labor'd less could cease: Though but by grains thou aid'st the pile The vast Eternity uprears-- At least thou strik'st from Time the while Life's debt--the minutes days and years![7] [Footnote 6: That is to say--the Poet's occupation--The Ideal