Classic Poem

Art thou too at this hour awake,
Or musing thus sink'st thou to rest?
Dost thou of these dear thoughts partake
That fill thy Sara's faithful breast,—

While one loved image casts a spell
O'er all her soul's entranced powers,
Possesses—charms her but too well,
And steals from sleep the silent hours?—

O! wherefore ask?—Hast thou not sworn
Thy gentle heart is mine to hold?—
Ne'er will I doubt—ne'er can I mourn
Hopeless until that heart grow cold.

Do what thou wilt!—glad homage pay
Right eloquent at Beauty's throne—
Thou wilt not cast my love away,
Nor pierce a bosom all thy own.

Now on my knees—till morning light
I'll pray high Heaven to shield from harm,
And guard from perils of the night
My Henry with protecting arm!

Sweet be his sleep!—and if he dream,
O! may his visions soft and bright
Show like the Moon's reflected beam
In some calm lake on summer night!