Classic Poem

FAREWEL! ye friendly bow'rs, ye streams adieu,
I leave with sorrow each sequester'd seat:
The lawns, where oft I swept the morning dew,
The groves, from noon-tide rays a kind retreat.

Yon wood-crown'd hill, whose far projecting shade,
Inverted trembles in the limpid lake:
Where wrapt in thought I pensively have stray'd,
For crowds and noise, reluctant, I forsake.

The solemn pines, that, winding through the vale.
In graceful rows attract the wand'ring eye,
Where the soft ring-dove pours her soothing tale,
No more must veil me from the fervid sky.

Beneath yon aged oak's protecting arms,
Oft-times beside the pebbl'd brook I lay;
Where, pleas'd with simple Nature's various charms,
I pass'd in grateful solitude the day.

Rapt with the melody of Cynthio's strain,
There first my bosom felt poetic flame;
Mute was the bleating language of the plain,
And with his lays the wanton fawns grew tame.

But, ah! those pleasing hours are ever flown;
Ye scenes of transport from my thoughts retire;
Those rural joys no more the day shall crown,
No more my hand shall wake the warbling lyre.

But come, sweet Hope, from thy divine retreat,
Come to my breast, and chase my cares away,
Bring calm Content to gild my gloomy seat,
And cheer my bosom with her heav'nly ray.