Classic Poem

A CHIEF for well-fought battles high renown'd,
Whom former laurels oft had richly crown'd,
One summer's eve alone, retir'd to try
Those charms which solitude can best supply.
As by the margin of a winding stream
He thoughtful mark'd the sun's declining beam,
An ancient tower near the spot he view'd,
Which clad in mantling ivy solemn stood,
Thereon, with many a comment, he perceiv'd
The wasting pow'r of Time, and seeing griev'd.
" Thus towers, " said he, " thus mighty " cities fall,
" And men; for fate thus overwhelms " them all. "
He said, and wept; the tears so kindly given
Were such as angels register in Heaven.
Thus pass'd some hours, and when at night retir'd,
His dreams the same morality inspir'd!
The next day's sun beheld him rise in arms,
Still full of ardour. Fir'd by Glory's charms,
He rush'd impetuous to the ensanguin'd plain,
And there exulted in the numbers slain;
Wounded return'd, he sought the friendly shade,
The genius of the place could yield no aid;
Blood-stain'd and bleeding, from the spot he flies,
And discontented, self-convicted, dies.