Classic Poem

The draught from out the darker of the springs
A gloom Lethean o'er my spirit cast.
I saw the present only—not the past.
Long-cherish'd memories of blessed things,
Of dear love-service and sweet communings—
Had vanish'd quite, nor less each harrowing thought
Of kindness slighted or injustice wrought,
With which Remorse the shrinking bosom stings.
But when the fairer wave refresh'd my lips,
While those ill memories were still effaced,
The good revived, now more than ever bright;
So some skill'd hand in chymic mixture dips
A scroll whereon an unseen text is traced,
And lo! the hidden letters leap to light.