Classic Poem

FROM ANACREON .

Say, beauteous dove, where dost thou fly?
To what new quarter of the sky
Dost thou with silken plumes repair,
To scent with sweets the ambient air?
Stay, gentle bird, nor thou refuse
To bear along a lover's vows.
O tell the maid, of me belov'd,
O tell how constant I have prov'd;
How she to me all nymphs excell'd,
The first my eyes with joy beheld;
And, since she treats me with disdain,
The first my eyes beheld with pain.
Yet whether, to my wishes kind,
She hear my pray'r with gracious mind,
Or, unrelenting of her will,
Her hot displeasure kindle still,
I, in her beauty's chains bound fast,
Shall view her with indiff'rence last.
Fly swift, my dove, and swift return
With answer back to those that mourn:
O! in thy bill, bring soft and calm
A branch of silver-flow'ring palm.
But, why should I thy flight delay?
Go fleet, my herald, speed away.