Classic Poem

Go, happy book, — — —
Who, void of life, art from life's cares so free,
Thou canst, before my lovely charmer, lie,
Unscorch'd, by all the light'nings of her eye.
'Midst her inspiring touch , thou canst remain,
Tasteless of pleasure, and secure from pain:
While absent beauty breaks thy author's rest,
And hope , and fear , by turns, distract his breast.
My angel mistress must, henceforth, be thine,
And I devote thy offerings, to her shrine:
On varied themes, divert her wand'ring eye,
As o'er thy honour'd leaves, her glances fly;
But, when her thoughts, on softer subjects, rove,
And lead her, where thy pages talk of love .
Oh! then, so mindful of thy author be,
To bid her, in a whisper, think on me .