Classic Poem

Sweet enslaver! can you tell,
E're I learnt to love so well,
How my hours had wings to move,
All unbusied by my love!
'Tis amazement, now , to me,
What could then a pleasure be!
But you , like God , new sense can give,
And now, indeed, I feel, I live,

Oh! what pangs his breast alarm,
Whom soul and body, join , to charm!
Endless transports dance along,
Sweetly soft! or nobly strong!
Flaming fancy! cool reflection!
Fierce desire! and aw'd subjection!
Aking hope! and fear encreasing!
Struggling passions, never ceasing!
Wishing! trembling! soul-adoring!
Ever blest, and still imploring.

Let the dull, the cold, and tame,
All those dear disorders blame;
Tell 'em, that, in honour's race,
Charm'd by some such heav'nly face,
Lovers always foremost ran;
Love's a second soul to man .
Ease is languid, low, and base;
Love excites a generous chase:
Glory! Wealth! Ambition! Wit!
Thoughts, for boundless empire, fit!
All, at Love's approach are fir'd,
Bent more strong, and never tir'd,
He, who feels not Love's sweet pain,
Lives at ease — but lives in vain!

Little dream you, what is due,
Angel form! to Love, and you!
'Tis from you , I joy possess!
'Tis by you , my grief grows less!
Sadly pensive , when alone,
I the shades of life bemoan;
If some voice your name impart,
Care lies lighten'd, at my heart ;
Ev'ry woe disarms its sting ,
And I look down on Britain 's king!

When my fancy brings to view
Works, which wealth and pow'r can do;
All my spurr'd excitements wake,
And fortune charms me, for your sake!
Oh! I cry — 'twere heav'n possest!
To make her great , who made me blest .

In the morning , when I rise ,
If the sun-shine strikes my eyes,
All that pleases , in his view,
Is, my hope , to look on you!

When the sable sweep of night
Drowns distinction , from my sight ,
I no inward darkness find;
You are day light to my mind!

All my dreams are lives of joy,
Which, in waking , I destroy:
You , a slave to custom made,
Are of forms , and rules , afraid:
But your happier image , free
From fantastic tyranny;
Independent, kind, and wise,
Scorns restraint , and knows no ties .
Oh! the dear, the racking pain;
Who that sleeps thus, wou'd wake again!